Figurines in the Attic
by jojoandpicnic97
Summary: Matthew's life is looking up. After getting his dream job, he moves into an old Victorian house that may be a bit too good to be true. Case in point, the mysterious dolls up in the attic who decided to come to life. PruCan Complete
1. Mini-Polar Bears are Hard to Impress

**A/N:** **Hey, guys! In, like, October, a wonderful anonymous person submitted a prompt. I loved it. However, each time I would write it, I would hate it. And I wrote it like, maybe, four times? And then I would scrap it. But that's not fair to the wonderful person who submitted it (and the rest of you), so, instead, we're gonna do something I haven't attempted since I was fourteen! Yay! I'm going to write this week to week. That way, you guys can read it, and I have to write it whether I truly like it or not because you all will be disappointed if I don't update. And, y'know what? This past week, this first chapter, I actually like it. I'm going to consider that a win.**

 **So, without further ado, please enjoy this first chapter and I'll see (or not, because I can't see you through a screen and you guys can't see me back, but I think you get my point) you all next week. Have a nice day! :)**

 _Bones and flesh transform to shine  
_ _Eyes to marble and hair to twine  
_ _Shrink the size until it is little  
_ _Try not to break the skin so brittle_

 _Upon a kiss of love shall break  
_ _The curse upon this ungrateful rake  
_ _For his companions, a worser fate  
_ _Their curse to wait for a later date_

 _For long the Kirkland family thrived  
_ _But of male heirs it has been deprived  
_ _If a boy may there be born  
_ _With his consent shall it be torn_

* * *

His room was empty. He thought the longer he stared at it, the more normal it would become. He was leaving. He was actually moving away from home for the first time in his life. His childhood room was packed away in boxes and only the walls were left.

It was weird. By this time tomorrow, he would have a new place to call home. A new room to call his.

"Oh, Matthew," a voice said at the doorway. Matthew turned away from his empty room to see his mother at the door, eyes watery. "You're really moving, aren't you?"

He smiled sorrowfully. Leaving his mother behind to live by herself was the only downside to his move. He had thought long and hard whether or not to take their miniature polar bear Kuma with him and he had been tempted to leave him there with his mom, but she insisted that she was too old to take care of him. He pushed her impending loneliness from his mind and said, "Yeah, Mom. I am."

She sighed. "I just can't believe it. I swear just yesterday you were begging me for Kuma." He laughed. He had been ten years old then. Almost everyone he knew in his class at school had some type of pet - lizards, penguins, dogs, cats, miniature (and one not so miniature) elephants, parakeets, small dragons, rabbits, pigs, various types of miniature bears, foxes, even a baboon. The closest thing he had to a pet was his cousin Alfred's eagle that would visit every so often with a letter attached to its leg. It had taken over half a year to persuade his mother to get a pet. That year, on his birthday, they went to the local adoption home to check out the animals. Kuma hadn't seemed very interested in anything other than food, but when Matthew had seen him, he knew he was the one.

"I'll visit as often as I can," Matthew promised, thinking about Alfred's eagle again. He'd be seeing a lot more of it; Alfred lived only fifteen minutes from his new job. "And I'm not very far. Just an hour away."

His mother pouted. "An hour too far. I expect you to call every hour."

"Every five hours," he bargained.

"Three."

"Deal," he said with a smile. He wrapped his arms around her. He really would miss her, but it was time for him to leave the nest and they both knew it.

Matthew Williams, twenty-three years old, fresh out of college, was headed to Avalon to be the assistant of a professor at Avalon University. He was going to love it there, he was going to love his job, and nothing and nobody could stop him.

He said farewell to his mother one last time, made sure all of his boxes were in the movers truck, and loaded Kuma into his car before taking off.

The hour long drive wasn't too bad, save for Kuma's complaining, but seeing Avalon always blew Matthew away. He had only been to the city a few times in his life — his mother had never been fond of traveling, hence Alfred sending him letters via eagle. But he always loved seeing it. The city skyline extended farther than he could see, the architecture far grander than his hometown's meagre collection of buildings. Buildings soared up into the sky (some quite literally), towers with needles protruding from their tops stretched far above the tree line, while the trees themselves swayed gently in the late summer breeze.

He passed by several notable places on his way towards the other side of the city where his new house was located — an old Victorian priced considerably reasonably (and by reasonably, it was a bit too good to be true).

Camelot Park, one of the biggest parks in the nation, was spread out over many large blocks. It consisted of several gardens, a man made lake at one end and an equally man made river flowed towards the other end, a few playgrounds for children magical or otherwise, and public exercising equipment as well as a practice ground for magic users of all ages. Matthew had been there one time with Alfred and their mothers sometime in the second grade and he had thought it was one of the prettiest parks he had ever been to. He couldn't wait to take Kuma on a walk there, though it was quite a distance away from his new home.

Not too far away from the park was the Myrddin Observatory. It was a monumental building, standing proudly upon the top of Avalon's highest hill. It's domed roof was painted to reflect the night sky. Inside, vast amounts of research and information about the solar system, the universe, and beyond could be found. Matthew had never been there, but it was on his list. Besides, he didn't have much of a choice now. Alfred had gotten a job there ("It's always been my dream to work here, Mattie! I can't believe they hired me!) as a janitor and promised, or rather declared without leaving room for an argument, Matthew a personal tour.

Then, almost in the center of the city, the distinguished Avalon University sprawled across a large area of streets, with various buildings of a myriad of architectural designs composing the highly acclaimed school. It was _the_ top university in the nation and Matthew had actually managed to get a job there. It was a super competitive job, and he had gotten it. He couldn't wait to get to work at the school, with its extensive library, pristine and visually appealing fountains, and over all friendly but slightly intimidating atmosphere. There were a handful of students at every corner, lugging around books and looking for all the world like they wanted to go home and sleep. He looked forward to helping them shape their futures.

Finally, just before the edge of the city, was the Monmouth Museum of World History. As a person who had minored in history, Matthew was really interested in visiting the museum once, twice, over a thousand times if possible. Its architecture borrowed heavily from the Greeks and towered over five stories tall. It was an immense building filled to the brim of international treasures, artifacts, documents, and other ancient valuables. It covered magical history — including the prejudice, the fascism, the horrible treatment of nonmagical people, and attempt at erasure of their own horrible deeds — as well as nonmagical history — the apartheid, oppression, tyrannical dictators, two attempted genocides, and the long struggle of being treated without equal rights compared to magical people, a struggle that they were still fighting to this day. After thousands of years, witches and wizards had become understandably more tolerable of (or, in Matthew's case, didn't tolerate but _welcomed_ like a kind, sane human being should be as they were all human beings that deserved to be treated with respect) nonmagical people. One of the reasons Matthew minored in history was so he could prove naysayers wrong and hopefully teach people to learn from the past.

There was always hope for the future.

Before he knew it, he was parked in front of his new home. He unbuckled and got out, circling around the car to let Kuma out as well. Kuma hopped right out and started pacing around. "Like it," Matthew asked, eyebrows raised, smile hopeful.

Kuma sniffed around. He looked right up into Matthew's eyes and tilted his head. "No."

Matthew's smile dropped and he sighed. "Of course not." He looked back to his house - _his_ house that _he_ bought and paid for (though there were still payments to be made) — as the moving truck pulled up into the driveway. The house had a regal porch with a sizable downstairs as well as an upstairs. And, if he remembered correctly from what the real estate agent was telling him, there was an attic as well. For the size of the property, the price he was paying for it really was a steal. He looked back at his bear. "Well, I like it."

Kuma simply started peeing on the front lawn.


	2. Dust and Other Exciting Finds

**A/N: Yay! Chapter two! Shout out to my sister who beta'd the chapter and proposed the idea of draining the life source out of dragons to make into an amulet to store in a closet to magically hang up clothes. This idea will not be used in this fic. No dragons will be harmed in the fic. I don't think dragons will even show up in the story, nor do I think there are dragons in this world. Sorry not sorry. Also, I swear we will meet the dolls next chapter. Have a nice day! :)**

His new home was spacious, that much he knew. But it was old and that much was obvious. Still, a roof was a roof and it wasn't like the place was uninhabitable. It might have leaks during rainy season, and it might have a draft, but those things were fixable and Matthew was more than willing to fix them. This was his home now.

The deck of the porch creaked beneath his feet as he made his way to unlock the door. He took a deep breath before opening it and took a tentative step inside and... immediately fell into a coughing fit.

"Dust," he choked, "so much _dust_." He put a hand over his mouth and nose and went back outside to help the movers. _They_ had the smarts to be wearing face masks. While it didn't look like Kuma was headed inside anytime soon, Matthew kept a careful eye on him. It wouldn't be good to have Kuma go inside and start dying of asphyxiation because Matthew didn't warn him about the breathability of - or lack thereof - the air inside the house. And if Kuma _did_ manage to survive that dusty hell, then the bear would never shut up about how Matthew almost let him choke to death.

Matthew kept the collar of his shirt up around his nose to help the movers carry in all of his boxes. It took about two hours and by the time he was finished, he was hungry, sweaty, and dreadfully tired. Kuma was also complaining about the heat outside ("It's _hot_! I'm _hot_! I'm a _polar_ bear, not and _equator_ bear!"), so Matthew was forced to dig his fan out of his boxes and drag it outside lest he start blowing dust everywhere. With a flick of his fingers, it turned on and Kuma started to wiggle all around it happily.

No longer as hot and sweaty, but still tired and hungry, Matthew started looking around his car for snacks. He didn't want to leave just yet for groceries, or even a simple meal. That would take time, effort, and only prolong the almost disastrous state his home was in. Dust and boxes weren't exactly his idea of a friendly home. Triumphantly, he found granola bars in his glove compartment. He wasn't sure how long they had been there, but at this point, he couldn't find it in himself to care.

There he was, Matthew Williams, twenty-three, sitting on his new (semi-dilapidated) porch, eating stale granola bars with his mini-polar bear who was bathing himself in cool air from the fan and, quite frankly, Kuma was hogging all the nice air. He didn't want to lay down in fear of splinters and, not to mention, he didn't want to dilly-dally too long. He had work to get to the next day. It was going to be an exhausting next few days, but still, he was happy. He had a dream home (that, admittedly, needed some work), his dream job, and life was looking up. Nothing could change his mind.

Not even the fact that when he got up and went back inside he forgot to cover his mouth and nose and was sent into another dust-filled coughing fit.

Life sucked like that sometimes.

* * *

The first thing he did was move the boxes chilling out with nowhere in particular to go. Going through these boxes made him realize that, while he had a few necessities, he desperately needed to go shopping. This was fine. He was an adult with an adult job. He could go out and do adult things like buy kitchenware sometime soon. Because he was an adult. Who already missed home.

Like any sensible adult who could do things on their own adult time in their own adult way, he called his mother.

"Matthew!" she greeted. "Your call is an hour late, young man!" He checked the time. It had been four hours since he left. Their promise was to call every three hours. Oops.

"Sorry, mom," he said. "I was busy."

She tutted. "If you say so." It was quiet for a minute in which Matthew deliberated what to say. However, his mother was growing impatient. "Well?"

"It's dusty in here." That was not what he meant to say. It slipped out. What he _meant_ to say was 'It's great here, mom! I can't wait for you to see! You're going to like it. It's got that old timey feel and Kuma loves it too!' And, yeah, she might have gotten that the last part was a lie - Kuma doesn't really _love_ anything beyond food, i.e. _fish_ , but she could have chalked it up to Matthew being ever so slightly facetious. But no. He went and said that it was dusty. Fantastic. Now she'll think he hates it.

"You hate it," she deadpanned.

Matthew wanted to dig himself a hole and live in it. "No," he denied vehemently. "Not at all! It's just a little dust. That was to be expected, you know it's old. I just panicked because I wasn't sure how much you wanted me to say I loved it and if you were wondering if I miss home - I do, by the way, because I miss you, too, even though I've only been gone four hours, and-"

"Matthew," she interrupted. He could imagine an exasperated smile on her face. "You're babbling."

He sighed and sat at a kitchen chair. The place really wasn't all that bad - it had come with furniture, for goodness sakes! It was a steal! He should feel happier! This was a dream come true. He sighed again. "Would it be weird and-or pitiful for me to say that I'm already homesick?"

"No." Her voice was warm and comforting. He wished she was here right now.

This was pathetic. He had been gone not even half a day! Not even six full hours and already wanted to go back. Four hours ago, his mom was doing what he was doing now: lamenting his going and wishing he would stay. Did this make him a hypocrite? Probably. Maybe.

"Can I ask what you're doing right now?"

"Hmm…" He looked around at the boxes still having no place to go. "I was moving around boxes. I wanted to unpack some today. At least the ones in my new room, you know?"

"Ah." She was nodding, he could hear the shift of her hair. "How about you stop that? Stop trying to make it more homely." He was about to protest and she laughed. "Just look around, Matthew. Familiarize yourself with it. It can't be homely if you don't feel at home in it."

He pursed his lips. She had a point. "Okay. I will."

"Good," she said in return. "Call me again in three hours."

He chuckled. "I will. Thanks."

"You're welcome." She was smiling again. He could hear it in her voice. "I love you."

"Love you, too. Bye."

"Bye."

He was almost loathe to hang up, but he did. She always knew what to say to make him feel better. He set his phone on the kitchen counter and stood. He surveyed the area - off to the right was the living room, off to his left was the dining room. He went to the living room, checked out the bathroom, et cetera et cetera. It was enormously boring, or at least it would have been, if not for the fact that he found "VK+HP" carved into the wood of a bedroom doorway as well as various left over pencil drawings in the room. He found random pieces of furniture he liked throughout the house - there wasn't much, but there were definitely some that would be getting sold and some he would keep.

The stairs creaked the entire way up, and he was greeted with a dimly lit hallway with a single dirty window at the end, but a lamp or a floating light could fix that problem right away (or maybe just cleaning the window). He knew his new bedroom was the last door on the right - if he was going to own the place, he was getting the master suite for himself. There was another bathroom, a closet, and another small bedroom. In his new bedroom, there was a mirror which had a small plaque on the other side of it reading _Prop. of A. K._ He tilted his head. Maybe 'VK' and 'A. K.' were related? It was definitely a possibility; he didn't know who owned the house prior. They could have been sisters, or brothers, or siblings, or whatever else. Or unrelated. It was circumstantial.

Exiting the room, he looked up and down the hallway. He knew there was an attic, he just didn't know how to get there. He scanned the ceiling in hopes of finding something that would clue him in and he found it. In the ceiling, just outside his new bedroom door, hidden in the darkness of the dirty window, was a square cut out from the rest. There was a small hole on the edge farthest from the window. He'd have to find a stick or something to hook onto it.

"Huh," he muttered, face scrunching up in concentration. "How can I…?" His face lit up in an epiphany.

He raced down the stairs and grabbed a kitchen chair as well as a wire coat hanger. He lugged his things up the stairs, one heavy step at a time. Half way up, Kuma padded by (to where, Matthew hasn't the faintest clue, but Kuma did get bored easily). "What're you doing," he asked, plopping down and looking up the steps.

Matthew heaved a sigh as he got up another step. "I'm going to try to get in the attic."

"What for?"

"I want to." He blew hair out his face as he neared the last two steps.

Kuma _tsk_ ed. "Weirdo." With that, the bear got up again and left.

" _You're_ weird," Matthew murmured under his breath.

He finally surpassed the final step and dragged the chair - heavier than it looked - over to the door to the attic. He climbed on top, found his balance, and used the hanger to try and see if he could pull it down.

In the end, he didn't have to try very hard. At the first tug, the thing came swinging down, nearly smacking him in the face. He narrowly avoided it with a resounding, "Whoa!"

He peered up into the attic, which was pitch black. He felt in his pocket for his phone which… wasn't there. He cursed himself, got off the chair, went down the stairs, grabbed his phone off the counter, went back up the stairs, got back on the chair, and turned on the flashlight. So much work for such a little thing. He wondered if it was worth it to go through all this trouble for an attic that was no doubt just as dusty and old as the rest of the house. He shone the light into the hole and saw two wooden rods close to the edge. He grabbed a hold of one of them and tugged. The other rod came with it and he discovered it was exactly what he was hoping for it to be: a ladder. He pulled it down, learning it was more than long enough to touch the ground and up through the ceiling. After leaning it up against the chair as securely as he could, he climbed up and into the attic.

And instantly went into another coughing fit. " _Dust_ ," he choked, cursing himself for not thinking about the consequences of entering a newly opened dusty room, which he had been so careful about thus far. He pulled up the collar of his shirt and went up into the attic again.

It was roomy, _way_ roomier than he thought it would be. There were boxes up here, too. As well as a weird owl statue, covered up chairs, a small night stand, a… wig… he hoped it was a wig. And at the very back, by the big round window that looked out onto the backyard, stood a dollhouse on a large desk. It was an impressive dollhouse, pink with white trim around the windows. He started to make his way over to it, almost _drawn_ to it, which was weird he supposed; he had been more of a hockey kind of kid than a doll one. And just as he reached out to open it -

The front door, two stories below, began to rattle violently in its doorframe. Matthew jumped. He could feel the vibrations from where he stood, which would have been a bit concerning, if not for the fact that he was more concerned about who could possibly be banging on his door. He wasn't expecting any visitors. He got to the edge of the floor where it fell away to the ladder and sighed. He was getting tired of climbing up and down things.

He climbed down and got the edge of the stairs. He was getting tired of climbing up and down things. He descended the stairs.

He grabbed the handle of the door, pulled it open -

"Mattie!"

\- and was immediately enveloped in a hug.


	3. It's Not Haunted

**A/N: Hi, guys! Guess who's gonna go see Rent today?! I am! :D I'm so excited; it's gonna be awesome omg I can't wait. Anywho, you're gonna see some peculiar/unfamiliar words in this chapter which I have provided definitions for down below (this is mostly due to the fact that I do not wish to place my story in Harry Potter World^** _ **TM**_ **). Hope you like it and have a nice day! :)**

Alfred had his 'I'm smiling to be polite' smile on his face. "It looks great, dude!" He warily eyed the kitchen. His hands were in his lap, which was an odd thing for Alfred to do, but Matthew guessed that it was his way to not touch anything particularly dusty. Alfred cleared his throat, fidgeting in his chair as his eyes found their way back to Matthew's. "So, there aren't any, like, ghosts in here, are there?"

Matthew stared blankly back. "Yes," Matthew said. "There are ghosts. Haven't you seen them, yet?"

"Boo," Kuma said from where he was lying down underneath the table.

Alfred's hairs stood up on his arms and Matthew tried not to laugh too hard. "Mattie! It's not funny! This place is old and, dude, _so_ dusty I've felt a sneeze coming on for, no lie, five minutes."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "If there are ghosts, I haven't seen them. If anything, you banging on the door scared them off." Alfred pouted. "What're you doing here, anyway?"

That seemed to brighten his mood. "Well," he began, "my mom said that your mom said that you moved in today and I asked her for your address, so here I am! I bought you a comic as a housewarming gift-" he cut off and looked at his empty hands guiltily "-but I forget to, y'know, actually _buy_ it. So, uh… next time." Matthew snorted. _Sure_. Alfred usually does remember to buy the things he promises to get Matthew, but he never remembers to give it to him. It's because of this that Matthew never loans Alfred anything - he's horrible at remembering to give things back. "Promise," he added before continuing. "Also, I have the funniest story to tell you about work today that I could not wait to tell you. I mean, I could have called or sent Hero, but nah, man, you gotta hear this." He leaned across the table, eyes sparkling with mirth, and seemingly forgetting all about the piles of dust on it. Matthew made a note to remind him to wash his hands before he left.

He looked expectantly at Alfred. "So do I get to hear this story or are you going to stay there like an idiot until the ghosts come to get you?"

In a flash, Alfred sat back in his seat with a yelp. "Not cool dude!" Matthew just laughed. Alfred huffed. "Whatever. Maybe I shouldn't tell you." It took about a minute of pleading on Matthew's part to get Alfred back on track. "Okay, so, I was at work today," he started, leaning forward again, his grin already wide on his cheeks. "And I was doing my thing, y'know? Mopping the floors and shit and so anyway, I'm in front of the Minerva Curie display and this guy - this _guy_ \- comes over and he's, y'know, staring at the display-"

"What, did you hope he was staring at you for a minute there?"

The look Alfred gave him was wholly unimpressed. "I suppose I could make a comment about his tight ass, but instead I'm not gonna and tell you all about his eyebrows." Matthew raised an eyebrow at that. "This guy had massive eyebrows." He let that sink in for a moment, silently wiggling his own eyebrows.

They stayed like that for a solid two minutes before Matthew said, "Okay. I'll bite. What about his eyebrows?"

Al sighed. "Aren't you paying attention? They were _huge_! I'm talking the biggest things I've ever seen on somebody's head! There were like, no joke, five of them stacked on top of each other for a total of ten eyebrows on this guys face. Can you even imagine, Mattie? You think he'd wax them, right? So, anyway, I was like-"

"Wait," Matthew interrupted. "Please don't tell me you talked to this guy about his _eyebrows_."

"I talked to this guy about his eyebrows." Matthew groaned. "Hey, man, he deserved it. Okay, so, I'm there, and I'm like,'Didja get cursed?' 'Cause, y'know, if he did, I probably could have helped. I know I'm not as magically intune as you are, but I think basic eyebrow curses I can fix. Probably. Maybe. Y'know, thinking about it, I probably would have made it worse if he asked. Huh. Anyway, he was all like, _in a British accent_ \- this dude had a British accent, which was cool and sounded so extra, but anyway he was all like, 'What?' And I was like, 'Your eyebrows.' And he got _super_ offended-"

"What did you think was going to happen?!"

"Uh, say 'Yeah, can you please help?' No, instead he got pissy and called me a-" Alfred stopped, face contorting into a grimace. "A, uh, a… y'know, a-" his voice dropped down to a whisper "prol." Immediately, Matthew's mouth tasted sour and his friendly smile turned to a deep set frown. Alfred quickly recovered and continued, "I wasn't about to take any of that shit so, when he wasn't looking, I hexed him with _purpureoderma_. His skin won't look normal for at least another day! I made sure of it!"

Matthew laughed unabashedly. When he calmed down, he asked, "Why purple? Why not red or gray or blue, your favorite?"

Alfred scoffed. "Why would I want some metagnosticist have skin dyed my favorite color? I've never been particularly in love with purple."

Matthew nodded and accepted the answer before remembering something. "Hey! My eyes are purple!" Alfred just snickered.

* * *

Alfred left later than Matthew had originally anticipated. By that time, the sky had grown dark, they had had pizza for dinner, and all he wanted to do was get his room in an organized manner to sleep in. He walked past the still open attic and fixed his new room. There was plenty work left to do for it, but that could wait for a later date. His first day of work was the next morning, so he went straight to sleep… but not before calling his mother to say good-night.

When he woke up in the morning, he got ready for the day. During breakfast, he checked his email and was quite surprised to find one from his new employer.

 _To: mwilliams1 at magicnet . com  
_ _From: arthurjkirkland at avalon . edu  
_ _Subject: Class Cancellation_

 _Mr. Williams,_

 _I am terribly sorry to inform you that I have come down with a rather nasty cold. As a consequence, I am afraid that I must cancel my classes for the day. I apologize for this unprofessionalism, but I should be fine by tomorrow. I look forward to working with you. Enjoy one more day off._

 _Arthur Kirkland_

Matthew sighed. Of course. Life was like this sometimes. He woke up early, got ready early, and for what? His first day at work to be cancelled? Fantastic. He cleaned up his breakfast slowly and trudged back up the stairs with every intention to fall back in bed.

But the attic was still open. And that dollhouse was still up there. He gazed up into the darkness. He had nothing else to do for the day except clean and get groceries. There wasn't any reason for him to not go back up there, so that's what he did.

The dollhouse was still there. It was still pink, still had white trim, and it was still…. He frowned. He could have sworn it wasn't cracked open yesterday. It had been shut and he hadn't touched it. No one had touched it - Alfred never went upstairs and Matthew was fairly certain he didn't sleep walk. He cautiously edged towards it and that feeling came back, the feeling that made him feel compelled to reach out and touch it.

His hand made it to the top of the roof and he pulled it open. It… was normal looking. Well, for the most part. The dolls looked kind of weird, and there was only one girl. As mentioned before, he was more of a hockey kid than a doll one, but he was pretty sure there was supposed to be a sister or grandma doll, too, than just a mom one. Or was she the sister and there was no mom or grandma? Then again, they didn't seem to be different ages, except the one with the white hair. That was clearly the grandpa doll. He reached out to pick it up, but was accosted by an involuntary rush of magic zapping through his fingers. He immediately pulled his hand back with a cry and began waving it around, trying to get rid of the burn.

Yeah. That was so _normal_. What type of dolls in a dollhouse pulled people's magic from them? Of course, as if that wasn't weird enough, Matthew failed to believe his eyes when it appeared that the dolls were beginning to move.

Like, _move_ move. By themselves move. They were moving. On their own. One even yawned. _Yawned_. With an audible sound.

And then the impossible - more than impossible - so far beyond normal it was on another plane of existing impossible - happened. " _Où sommes-nous?_ " another asked, voice thick from sleep.

Matthew felt his stomach drop. His blood ran cold, making his limbs freeze in place. He struggled to regain his breath as he put in tremendous effort to force his legs to move. They felt like lead, but he got a foot to move back an inch. And then another inch. And another until he was finally moving at a pace he was happy with. He fled from the attic without a backwards glance. After climbing back down onto the chair, he swung the trap door closed with a hefty bang.

His breath was coming much too fast now as his heart was racing. He shook his head and willed away his hysteric thoughts.

No way. No way did those dolls move. No way did they yawn. No way did they talk. No way. Not possible. Dolls don't do that. Dolls are dolls and they're inanimate and not living. And on the topic of living, there were no ghosts in the house. The house wasn't haunted. He wasn't in a horror movie. No way. It's all his imagination.

With that thought in mind, he went downstairs to get a glass of water for his dry mouth.

* * *

 **Definitions**

*prol = short for proletariat; used as a derogatory term

*proletariat = the lowest class of citizens in ancient Rome; here it used as to describe a non-magical person (or, as they were once before, a low class citizen)

*purpureoderma = purple skin; combination of roots purpureo and derma to create purple skin

*metagnosticism = "the doctrine that knowledge of the Absolute is within human reach, but through a higher religious consciousness rather than by logical processes;" here it is "all power of the Absolute is within human reach, but through a higher magical consciousness rather than by mundane processes"

*metagnosticist = someone, typically magical, who believes in metagnosticism (and therefore is a magical person who believes they are better than a non-magical one)

 **Translation**

* _Où sommes-nous?_ = Where are we?

 **(Also, you can't have an "at" sign in the text. Pretend that the "at"s written are the real signs.)**


	4. 10-6 is 4

Avalon University was a grand institution. It's long history was seen throughout its buildings, all old but still there, unlike some other parts of the city that had been rebuilt. The university had somehow made its way out of centuries of war unscathed. Its campus had seen all sorts of rich history, from the aforementioned wars, to protests, to dead kings and queens, to the rise of democracy, the apartheid, and the end of it. It was its own part of history and Matthew quite liked standing in the middle of it.

It was a bright, early morning. He was going to make the best out of his first day of work.

Finding the room he was supposed to be in wasn't all that hard. His boss's office was… relaxed, to say the least; it was one of the most disorganized spaces he had ever stood in, and he had been in Alfred's room before. There were piles of paper strewn about, and he wasn't sure if the desk should be supporting the amount of books on top of it, not to mention, the bookshelf looked all kinds of out of sorts. All of the correspondence Matthew had had with Arthur Kirkland had been polite and formal, verging on sophisticated. But all of those initial impressions were being blown through the roof by the state of this room.

Thankfully, he didn't need to wait long for Professor Kirkland to come. "Ah, Mr. Williams," he said as he entered the office in a - surprisingly - English accent. "Sorry about the mess."

"No, problem," Matthew started as he turned to shake his new boss's hand, "It's nice to-meet-you…." Arthur Kirkland took Matthew's outstretched hand and shook it whilst Matthew stood dumbly.

Bushes. Caterpillars. Rugs. What was it that Alfred had said? Five stacked on top of each other to make a total of ten? Matthew felt a shiver flow down his spine. The world couldn't be _this_ small.

"It's nice to finally meet you, too," Arthur Kirkland continued. "I look forward to our partnership. I teach advanced magical artistry, as I'm sure you know. I also have a small class of pentagonal spells. I understand that you've taken a few classes on the subject." Matthew nodded, still dumbfounded. "Great!" Arthur Kirkland moved to the other side of his desk to grab a stack of papers - how he knew which ones to grab was beyond Matthew - but that wasn't really what caught his attention.

It hadn't been so noticeable until he stepped into the beam of light coming from the haphazardly closed window, but now it was almost too obvious. Oh, sure, Arthur Kirkland had tried his best, that much was extremely obvious, and if Matthew hadn't known better, he wouldn't have noticed it all. But there was no denying it. Arthur Kirkland's skin was a pale shade of purple.

It took extreme amounts of effort to not burst out laughing uncontrollably.

 _Extreme_ amounts.

As the day went on in Arthur Kirkland's care ("Please, call me Mr. Kirkland; Professor Kirkland is for my students and we're colleagues."), Matthew noticed something about him. And that something was that he was a major, _major_ , metagnosticist. He was friendly, polite, and respected by his students. On the surface, he was a perfect gentleman. But underneath, the little glimpses that shone through during his time with Matthew spoke volumes about his real character.

They were little remarks mostly. Things that a lot of people, especially fellow metagnosticists, wouldn't think twice about. Offhand comments about co-ed universities, inferior sciences, and general distaste for anything non magical seemed to be his biggest concerns. Maybe Arthur Kirkland didn't realize himself that he was a metagnosticist and felt that what he was saying was "common knowledge."

In any case, it was driving Matthew crazy. All he could do was smile and nod - first day on a job was not the time to get into politics and prejudice. Well, it would be except for the fact that he didn't want to get fired after having this job for only four hours.

By the time he goes home, all he wants to do is sleep - dinner could wait until breakfast tomorrow morning. He said a hello to Kuma who was snoozing in the living room and trudged up the stairs, knowing that he should have stopped in his kitchen for at least a snack, and that he probably should take a shower, at least call his _mother_ , but he was _so tired_ and-

Something crashed above him. Matthew stood ramrod straight and looked up at the ceiling. His breath was bated as he impatiently waited to hear more noise, or chalk it up to his imagination. But no there were little tiny footsteps scrambling across the ceiling, somewhere in the attic. Matthew hoped he didn't have rats or-

A chill shook down his spine as he remembered the dolls. Which was ridiculous because he dreamed them up; after all, dolls don't move and they don't talk and they definitely don't break things in your attic.

He approached the chair still in the hallway underneath the attic's trap door. He wondered if he should go up there. Well, he should. Definitely. Because it could be rats and not creepy dolls. So he's going up there. For the rats.

But, just in case it was creepy dolls, he grabbed a heavy book as a weapon.

He climbed atop the chair and carefully brought the door down. He stood the ladder against the chair (he hadn't put it back when he had fled from the attic the day prior) and slowly climbed one rung at a time into the attic.

The first thing he noticed is that things had been moved around and, yes, there was indeed a broken lamp on the ground. He hadn't even known there was a lamp up here. The next thing he noticed was that there were only two dolls in the house.

"But there were six," he mumbled to himself. They were missing. "But where?"

Something shifted to his right. He jumped and turned quickly swinging the book along with him. It hit nothing and he saw nothing. Trembling, he faced the doll house again and saw a third doll on the table and it had definitely not been there before.

"Hello," it said.

Matthew shrieked.

* * *

"For the last time; I am Gilbert Friedrich Wilhelm Klaus, Prince of Prussia, hailing from the House of Beilschmidt, heir apparent." The doll Matthew had suspected to be the grandpa then pointed to the largest doll. "This is my little brother, Prince Nikolaus Ludwig Karl Albert; he goes by Ludwig, or, as I like to call him, Luddy." To the one with the glasses: "My cousin, Roderich Victor Wolfgang Edelstein." To the woman: "His wife, Elizabeta Maria Hédeváry." Then, to the one with the long blond hair: "My good friend Francis Louis Armand Bonnefoy." Then he started to look around. "Where's Toni?"

Matthew frowned. He glanced at the second story where a doll was still tucked into bed. "Toni? The one upstairs sleeping?"

Gilbert's doll face lit up. "Yeah! Sounds like him. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo de Barcelona." With that, he started for the dollhouse stairs. Matthew watched bemusedly as he ascended and started to scream in his friend's ear.

Antonio jumped expressively out of the bed with a loud shout; unfortunately, he got tangled up in the blanket and tumbled to the floor with a dull thud. " _¡Ay, dios! ¿Gilbert, qué te pasa? Estaba durmiendo._ " He looked rightly angry, but the effect was being lost by his bed head.

Gilbert gave him an unimpressed look. "While you've been sleeping, we made a new friend."

It was then Antonio noticed Matthew staring at the exchange, looking for all the world a giant compared to the twelve inch tall dolls. His painted face fell slack as he gaped at him.

The air turned awkward (well, it had been awkward already; waking up from a curse induced sleep to find a giant would do that to a doll) and Matthew chuckled nervously. "So," he began, rocking back on his feet. He had all of their attention and he didn't know what to do with it. "You're cursed."

"Obviously," Gilbert scoffed, pivoting on his heel to face Matthew once more. He then made his way back down to the first floor to the rest of his friends, dragging Antonio behind him.

Matthew cleared his throat. "How, exactly? By whom? I can try to help you, but I'll need to know the parameters of the curse first." At this, the dolls began to shift uncomfortably. Finally, five tiny pairs of eyes directed themselves at Gilbert.

Gilbert attempted to look away and pretended like he didn't notice, but he gave that up quickly in favor of sighing and running his hands through his hair. "How?" he parroted. "Magic. By whom? I don't remember." He crossed his arms, visibly frustrated. "All I remember is that one day, I'm big and happy, and the next I'm here in this dollhouse, small, unhappy, and without as much as a clue as to what's going on as you are. I think I remember being cursed. I mean, I _must_ because I remember some of the lines, but I can't remember them all."

Matthew looked hopefully at the other five, but they just shook their heads.

"We weren't there," Ludwig said. "We didn't see him get cursed, but we were close enough to be cursed with him."

Matthew sighed. This was going to be more difficult than he had hoped. "What are the lines you remember?"

Immediately, Gilbert stood at attention. He almost looked proud that he could remember _something_. "Bones and flesh transform to shine," he recited dutifully. "Eyes to marble and hair to twine / Shrink the size until it is little / Try not to break the skin so brittle."

Yeah. That was helpful. "That hardly gives me anything to work with."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that it tells me nothing about how to break the curse." Curses tended to have their anecdote written into them for simplicity's sake. But Matthew couldn't help if he didn't know the rest.

"So, what do we do," Elizabeta asked, looking saddened. "Are we just going to stay dolls forever?"

"No," Matthew said. "I'll still help."

* * *

Notes:

*co-ed universities here are defined as universities for both magical and non-magical students

* _¡Ay, dios! ¿Gilbert, qué te pasa? Estaba durmiendo._ = Oh, God! Gilbert, what is wrong with you? I was sleeping.

*I don't speak Spanish. Most of the Spanish I learned from high school has left me. I used Google Translate and Spanish Dictionary as my aide. If my translations are incorrect, please do not hesitate to set me straight.

 **Have a nice day, guys! :)**


	5. How to Keep Dolls Happy

**A/N: Hi, guys! Just wanted to say I appreciate you and I hope you have a nice Valentine's Day. Until next time. :) Have a great day!**

A few days later found Matthew walking around Camelot Park with Alfred by his side. Hero was flying overhead and Kuma lazily trailed along a few steps behind. Alfred had invited him out for lunch and a small tour of the city ("Unfortunately, I can't take you on a tour of my work today because my boss is in; so rain check, yeah?"). It had been Matthew's idea about bringing the animals; Kuma had been getting fidgety at home and Matthew was hoping the trip around the park would brighten his mood and loosen him up. Looking down at him, Matthew couldn't tell. If anything, Kuma seemed to be bored out of his mind. Hero, on the other hand, was having the time of her life soaring above.

They had eaten at a burger shop (surprise, surprise; this was Alfred he was with and Alfred undisputedly liked burgers over any other multitude of healthier meals). The place wasn't half-bad and Matthew thought he might go back someday, if only for the french fries. Afterwards, the walked over to where they were now. Neither of them had plans for the rest of the day - there were no classes that day for either of them and Alfred didn't have work, though he did make an offhand comment about some type of mathematics homework ("I can totally put it off! It's not like it's advanced spell casting.").

The thing about Alfred was that he had power, quite a bit, but most of the time he couldn't figure out how to use it. His strongest subject was hexes, which was good in the way that it proved that he actually _did_ have magical talent, it was also bad in the way that Alfred had been a bit of a problem child. He also had every hex memorized and could implement them at the drop of a hat, if it was a good day. On a bad day, they were pretty weak, but still stronger than any other magic he could cast. It was for this reason in particular (because, let's face it, there weren't many jobs asking for advanced hexers) that Alfred had pursued a more mundane career.

He had been infatuated by science and astrology when he was a child and that had carried on into adulthood; he was proficient in his math and science classes - Matthew had been better in the magics and could not for the life of him understand how Alfred could solve math problems in three seconds flat without a calculator. Sometimes Matthew wondered if math magic existed, but non magical people had been using advanced math for centuries, so he mostly chalked it up to chance. However, just because Alfred was good at it, didn't mean that non magical people would allow him to waltz around doing his thing willy-nilly; science and magic didn't exactly mix, this was a proven fact for reasons Matthew didn't comprehend, but Alfred could explain in any given instance when asked. Regardless of this, Alfred was determined to figure out a way to combine the two.

This may be part of the reason as to why he was hired as a janitor rather than an intern even though his test scores are high.

After a while, they came to sit down on a bench near the beginning of the lake. Kuma stretched down at his feet and Hero rested on the ledge of the backrest.

"So," they began at the same time before abruptly cutting off and laughing. "You first," Matthew said.

Still giggling, Alfred said, "Unpacked yet?"

Matthew heaved a sigh of frustration. After meeting those dolls a few days ago, his house cleaning was put on hold in favor of trying to help them remember even _some_ of their life's details - being asleep in the form of a doll for who knows how long had made them suffer some memory loss and it was really bothering them. Not to mention, they had spent quite a long time as dolls and had to be caught up in modern technology. Matthew placed their last memories somewhere around a hundred years ago, _at least_. "No," he said, not caring to elaborate. He wasn't sure how well Alfred would take to the news of cursed dolls living in his cousin's attic. "Not even close. But, I do have some news that I've been putting off."

"Oh, yeah? What?"

"You know Eyebrows Guy?" Alfred immediately sat straighter, his smile brighter. He nodded his head vigorously, leaning in closer to get whatever gossip Matthew was about to spill unto him. "He's my boss."

Alfred's grin dropped into a look of disbelief. " _No_ ," he he said lowly, dragging out the 'o' a little. "You're kidding."

"Mm-mm," Matthew hummed. "I'm not. He is. He had the bushiest eyebrows I'd every seen and his skin was still purple." This made them both start loudly laughing. "I didn't want to say anything," Matthew crowed. "But, boy, did I think it! Even the second day of work, he still had some small patches of purple - not vibrant, mind you, but they were still there. None of the students noticed, I don't _think_ , but I totally did."

"Oh, my _gosh_ , that is so _great_. The guy deserved it." Alfred was starting to calm his laughter down, but he was still slightly shaking.

"Don't I know it," Matthew said. "He's polite, but he also doesn't know how to shut up. He's such an elitist."

"That sucks, dude. I'm so sorry." He put a hand on Matthew's shoulder in mock sympathy.

"Whatever." He pushed Alfred's hand off.

* * *

As soon as he closed the door behind him, he heard Gilbert calling for him.

Gilbert was the biggest pain out of the six of them. Since he was next in line to the throne, he was more entitled than his brother, and on top of that was the biggest narcissist Matthew had ever come across. He thought the world revolved around him and had a pretty big potty mouth. He waltzed around like was still a prince and Matthew was his own personal servant.

Sighing, Matthew went up to the attic to go see what Gilbert wanted this time. All Matthew wanted to do was unpack his boxes, but _no_ , his house just had to come with magic dolls.

"Finally!" Gilbert exclaimed. "I've been calling for you for hours; why the hell were you ignoring me?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. Figures that Gilbert didn't realize he was gone. "What do you want?"

"I'm bored."

Oh. Well. If that's all. What a pain. Matthew had half a mind to turn away and go back down the stairs to unpack the boxes.

Elizabeta cleared her throat to grab his attention. She was sitting over by the… wig… fiddling with its… hair, gently braiding it with astounding dexterity for the size of her hands. "We're all bored," she clarified for Gilbert. "There's only so much you can do in an attic besides solving the missing puzzle pieces of memories and curses."

By the number of braids she had already made, he took her word for it. "How can I help?"

The thing about the dollhouse was that it was a lot heavier than it looked, especially with the dolls in it. Now, he had picked up Francis before because he hadn't felt like climbing up the table leg to get back into the house, but upon picking him up, Matthew learned that the dolls themselves were heavier than he had initially believed. They were all at least a few pounds. It made sense, he supposed, since they had all been human once and their surface area and volume had been condensed into foot tall bodies. Still, carrying the house out of the attic was a pain and carrying it downstairs was downright exhausting. He had never felt more relieved than when he finally sat the thing down on the small coffee table in the living room. He reopened the house to let the dolls out.

"There," he said. "Now you have all of the downstairs to explore. Are you satisfied?"

The dolls spread out, only Elizabeta and Ludwig thanking him as they hopped down the table. He sighed at the ungratefulness and dropped to sit on the couch, staring blankly at the now empty dollhouse.

It was a pretty thing, pink with white trim on the outside. On the inside, it was more muted and not as standoffish. The floors were all wood. There was a downstairs, an upstairs, and an attic. It was pretty standard. The kitchen and living room were on the bottom, two bedrooms and bathroom on the second floor, and the attic also had another bed. Matthew wasn't sure where they all slept, or if they slept at all, but he supposed the couch and plush chair in the living room were also another option.

There was a table in the kitchen, its shape similar to the one he had in his own kitchen, but the biggest difference between his table and the doll one was the tablecloth. It was lacy, which was unsurprising, but the thing that caught his attention was the monogram stitched elegantly onto one of the corners - _AK_. He reached out and touched it, running his thumb along the edges. The fabric was still soft after who knows how long it had been up there. It seemed that the mirror in his room and the dollhouse had belonged to the same person, likely a young girl had lived here previously.

The living room had a small piano; upon touching the tiny keys, he learned that it could actually be played. However, his fingers were way too large to use it properly. He wondered how such a small piano could have possibly been built to play, and play in a normal key than a high one, and chalked it up to magic dolls, magic piano.

His thoughts were interrupted by his cell phone going off. He quickly answered it, happy to hear his mother's voice.

"How've you been? Your Aunt Martha told me you went out to eat with Alfred today."

Matthew nodded even though she couldn't see him and said, "Yeah. We went for a walk in the park." He paused and tried to think of something more to say. "Hey, Mom?"

"Yes?"

"If you came across a curse you didn't know how to break, what would you do?"

She hummed. He imagined her tapping her chin like she always did when she was thinking too hard. "That's tough," she said. "Is your boss purposefully giving you a hard time?"

He looked over again at the dollhouse. "Just something I found on my own," he said.

"Ah." She paused and for a second, Matthew thought that might be the end of the conversation. "Well, I would try to follow any leads I could. Any small details, anything that catches my eye, or any little clue I could possibly get. Curses aren't always difficult to figure out; some can be straightforward. However, sometimes a single word can make all the difference."

He thought back to how much of the curse he actually knew. It was difficult to apply her advice to a curse he knew so little about. He hummed noncommittally. "Yeah, I guess."

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see a doll coming back towards his way. Gilbert was running as fast as his short legs could carry him. "Matthew!" he called.

Matthew frowned and shushed him.

"What was that, dear," his mother asked.

"Huh? Oh, nothing."

"Matthew!" Gilbert said again, this time closer. He was almost on the couch.

"Are you sure," his mom asked.

"It's just…." He trailed off trying to think of a good excuse. "The TV."

"Oh!" she gasped. Gilbert was now tugging relentlessly on his hair trying to get his attention. "I didn't know you had a TV!"

Matthew looked over to the spot where he hoped to put a TV one day. "Yeah," he said. "I got it not too long ago." He swatted Gilbert away from his hair when he tried speaking again. "Mom, I gotta go and do some work."

She sighed, sounding sad she couldn't talk to him more and he felt a little guilty, but Gilbert really was a stubborn nuisance. "All right, sweetheart. I love you."

"Love you, too. Bye." He hung up quickly and gave Gilbert his full attention. "What?" He tried not to look as annoyed as he felt.

Gilbert looked a little miffed that he had been ignored for so long. "Who was that?"

"My mom," he said, displeased. "What did you need?"

"What's 'VK+HP' mean?"

Matthew so desperately wanted to bang his head against a wall. _That's_ what Gilbert wanted to know? _That's_ why he interrupted his conversation with his mom? "I don't know," he said. "Up stairs on my mirror, there's a plaque that has the initials 'A.K.' so your guess is as good as mine."

In that moment, Gilbert's entire demeanor changed. His cocky smirk twisted into a deep set scowl and his overconfident attitude shifted into something more cruel.

" _Kirkland_ ," he growled.


	6. What's in a Name? Kirkland Edition

**A/N: Give me a shout out if you too also really hate coughing and runny noses. I just want it to end. When will my health return from the war? Anyways, I hope you all had a nice Valentine's Day and, if you live in the US of A like I do, have a great three-day weekend. See you next week. Have a nice day! :)**

Matthew knew about the Kirkland family about as much as anybody else. That is to say, gossip.

They were an old family, all magical. Some centuries long passed, they mysteriously stopped producing male offspring, a fact that the women of the family greatly rejoiced in. The Kirkland women stopped taking husbands, and if they did they kept their name and passed it on to their daughters (which the husbands may or may not have liked). Most, though, remained unmarried and had affairs instead. There were quite a few infamous Kirklands - Jane, Diana, Nancy, and Lucinda to name a few.

Naturally, Matthew knew that his boss, Arthur Kirkland, was the first son to be born in the family in hundreds of years. He'd be an idiot not to realize it. He'd be an idiot to not know that most of Arthur Kirkland's apparent success and respect came from his family name and the mystique of being a male Kirkland.

Still, actually going up to Arthur Kirkland and asking if he knew about the curses his many great-grandmothers or great-aunts might have cast was an exhausting notion. Especially since the name of the Kirkland in question was evading the doll's memories.

"Agnes?" Elizabeta tried.

" _Non_. It was Ella." Francis said.

"I think you mean Pearla," Roderich said.

"Not even close, fancy pants," Gilbert snorted. He had yet to guess. ("When I take my guess, it won't be a guess! It'll be right!)

"Priscilla, then," Roderich mended.

Ludwig frowned. " _Nein_. I think her name was Lisa."

Antonio hummed. "Close. Maybe Alyssa?"

It went on and on. Matthew was tired of hearing their guesses without substantial evidence. There were thousands of names out there and thousands of Kirklands. They would take a thousand years at least to finally decide on a name before they actually remember it.

The only upside with their sudden preoccupation with women's names was that he was free to unpack as many boxes as he wanted because it wasn't _his_ name they were constantly calling out.

Of course, the downside of unpacking boxes was the realization that there wasn't much he actually owned. Like, for example, noise cancelling headphones.

Matthew had considered looking into who had owned the house before him, but when he bought it, the owner was unlisted. He didn't know who had lived there before him and had no way of figuring out. As far as he knew, the closest neighbors were at the other end of the long driveway and he had never actually seen any of their cars move. He supposed he could always just knock, but that brung up the problem of talking to the neighbors about cursed dolls and, if he hadn't been able to talk to Alfred about them, how was he supposed to talk about them to random strangers? Well, he didn't _have_ to bring them up, but talking to strangers about curses was surely a way to get the police called on him.

 _Renee. Katherine. Wendy. Olivia. Lorraine. Bertha. Audrey. Harriet. Veronica. Clarisse._

"Oh, stop it already," Matthew snapped. "Give up for the rest of the day, _please_." The dolls, who had been chilling around their house, looked over to where Matthew was sorting through a box of kitchenware. He didn't have much. But he was an adult and he could do adult things like get more kitchenware.

Gilbert got up from where he was sitting on the doll couch. "Got a problem?"

Matthew sighed and dropped a spoon back in the box. "You guys are getting nowhere. Stop focusing on a small detail like a name and start focusing on what she said. While it can be helpful to know who cast the curse, remembering the curse is most important."

Gilbert crossed his arms on his chest and seemed to digest his words. "Fair enough. We'll give up for now." He turned back to his companions. "But that doesn't mean you're right."

Matthew rolled his eyes. For a second there, it had actually seemed like Gilbert was a good person.

* * *

Arthur Kirkland was currently trying to make friends with him. Or, at least, he was forgetting his "colleague" values. Though, it wasn't much different. Matthew wondered if a person like Arthur Kirkland knew how to make friends - he wasn't doing his best right then, that was for sure.

"How about some tea," he had asked. "I don't drink coffee. It tastes like trash, don't you agree?"

And so Matthew was dragged to a local cafe. It was lunch time, so it wasn't like it was interfering with the class schedules, but he mourned the loss of having to wait to eat his leftovers from last night. Instead, he had an unappetizing, dry sandwich placed before him and some type of tea to drink. He picked the cup up and brought it under his nose to smell it and almost recoiled at the stench, but he didn't want to come off as rude. He took a small sip to see if it tasted as bad as it smelled and found it did. Oh, well. It was his fault for choosing a flavor negligently.

"Earl grey is one of my favorites," Arthur Kirkland told him. "Of course, today I chose jasmine, but we both couldn't get earl grey - that would be boring. Would you like cream in yours?" Matthew looked down at the repugnant smelling _earl grey_ and briefly pondered if adding milk would somehow make it taste better. He gave his consent and Arthur Kirkland skillfully poured in some _cream_. He took another sip and found it didn't taste that much better than before. "Now, Matthew, as colleagues, I find imperative to have some semblance of civility between us."

Matthew puzzled over the meaning of this before giving up. "Pardon?"

Arthur Kirkland frowned as if he had been expecting him to understand what it was he said. His ten eyebrows furrowed together to form one massive bush. "What I mean to say is, I would like our partnership to be a friendly one." He looked serious as he said this, nothing about his demeanor changing to make him appear more friendly.

"All right, Arthur," Matthew replied, unsure.

"Mr. Kirkland, please," he corrected with a jubilant flourish. Then he smiled, or at least tried to, and clapped as he relaxed a little in his chair. "Great!" And thus began small talk Matthew really didn't need in his life.

 _How is Avalon treating you?_ I like it so far, thank you.

 _Do you have any pets? I have a cat named Mrs. Norris._ That's nice. Yes, I have a miniature polar bear named Kuma. He had a longer name when I adopted him, but I forgot it. _Have you tried a remembrance charm to remember it?_ I haven't bothered. _Pity_.

 _Have you been to Camelot Park yet, Matthew? It's very pretty this time of year._ Yes, I did, not too long ago.

 _There are many places here that are worth visiting. I don't, however, recommend the observatory._ Oh, why not? _It's mundane and the people there can be downright rude. Are - are you laughing?_ Sorry, no, I just, I can understand that. _Ah._

 _Are you settled into your new home?_

Matthew set his cooling, barely drunken cup of _earl grey_ aside. He'd been picking about the chips on his sandwich plate and he hoped he ate enough to have Arthur Kirkland think he enjoyed the meal. "I'm settled enough," he replied. "It's a pretty nice home considering."

"Considering…?" He raised five eyebrows, his voice going up in a lilt. His curiosity came across as fake, but he was making an effort.

Matthew picked up a chip absent mindedly and broke it in two before setting it back down. "It's an old home and a lot of the furniture was left behind. It's on the outskirts of town, three stories. It was really cheap, too."

Arthur Kirkland set his cup of _jasmine_ tea down a little too harshly. "Does it have a large porch? And a big window facing the rear?"

"Yeah," Matthew said slowly. "How'd you know?"

All ten eyebrows shot for the sky. " _You_ own that house?" Matthew nodded. "Huh. Imagine that. I sold it to you."

Matthew balked. "That - I - _huh_?" Suddenly the repeated initial ' _K'_ was making more sense. If a Kirkland cast a curse on those dolls and they just so happened to have landed themselves in a previously owned Kirkland home, then that made even more sense.

Arthur Kirkland nodded like he hadn't just revealed a vital piece of information. "It was my grandmother's home. And her mother's before her and so on and so forth. I've never set foot in the place; my mother had a few times before she died, though. Nanna's in a retirement home now, much too old to be living on her own. She has been for a good part of a decade and that place was just sitting there, collecting dust. So I sold it."

And then it was like that big revelation never happened. Arthur Kirkland changed topics so fast Matthew was pretty sure it nearly gave him whiplash.

But Matthew couldn't forget it. He lived in a Kirkland home. The dolls had been cursed by a Kirkland. If what Arthur Kirkland had said was true, then it was either his grandmother or any other woman before her who had cursed those dolls. He just had to figure out which one of Arthur Kirkland's family members did it.

Getting this information was going to be hard. Especially when Arthur Kirkland didn't linger on it. Matthew resolved himself to do more research, this time specified to Arthur Kirkland's maternal lineage.


	7. Pancakes are Things to Be Worshipped

**A/N: Did you know that resource and recourse are two words that mean almost the same thing and now I'm so confused about which one belongs in which context this is messing me up so bad. Have a nice day! :)**

He had called his mom again. Her warm voice washed over him as she spoke about what she had been up to lately. "Mr. Vargas across the street had his grandsons over yesterday and they made an abundance of pasta again," she said lightly. "They brought some over for me and, would you believe it, by _some_ they meant several pots! You should come home sometime and relieve me of all these carbs. Bring Alfred as well - he'll eat two pots by himself." He chuckled and nodded along even though she couldn't see him. He had met Mr. Vargas's grandsons only a few times, but each time they visited, they made too much pasta and had to distribute it evenly to the other neighbors on the street. Sometimes, they made so much pasta that they had to go onto the next street. A few neighbors had even stopped accepting the Vargas pasta. Matthew and his mother happened to love it; it was the best tasting pasta they ever had, though even they had to admit, in excessive amounts, it was a bit much.

"Okay," he said in response. "Maybe this weekend, yeah?"

"Uh-huh." He imagined she was writing the plans down in a calendar. She liked to do things like that.

It was silent and Matthew wondered if this was the time to say what he'd been wanting to. No time like the present and all that. "So," he started. "I was wondering, about that curse that I can't break, and I've found out another clue to the puzzle, but I don't know how to use it."

She chuckled. "I knew there was a reason more to this morning call." He grunted sheepishly but didn't say anything to dispute her claim. "Well, let's think our way around this. How useful is this clue?"

"Useful," he said without missing a beat. "I think I can pinpoint the caster with it."

"Ah." He imagined she was tapping her chin in thought. "So you need a resource to track the caster?" He gave an affirmative answer. "Would the library help? If you have the name, then you can research it."

He sighed. "I only have a last name. It could be anyone."

"Is there no way to narrow the search?"

"I mean," he said before stopping. He thought about what he wanted to say next. "The caster is related to specific person, _I think_ , so that's narrowed. But I don't know which family member."

"Oh," she drawled. He imagined her slowly nodding her head in understanding. "I don't suppose you can infiltrate this person's house and go looking through their pictures?"

He laughed. "No-" His breath caught. He looked up at the ceiling. There were plenty of boxes in the attic. Who was to say that there wasn't a box up there that had old family photos in it? Especially if drawings had been left behind. "I'll see what I can do," he told his mother, still looking above him. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He vaguely remembered their good-bye as he exited his room to stare at the trap door just outside. He had long since taken the chair back down to where it belonged at the kitchen table and the ladder had been put back in place at the edge of the attic, but it would be so simple to get the chair back up here.

With that thought in mind, he went downstairs. And promptly remembered he had work to get to later that morning and had no time to go scavenging through his attic at the moment.

* * *

There was only thing on his mind when he got home from work later that day. And that thing was pancakes. He went straight to the kitchen as soon as the door shut behind him, calling out an obligated hello to the dolls and Kuma.

The kitchen was a lot cleaner than it had been when he moved in and was much more food-friendly. There were still a lot of things he needed - a strainer, a can opener, and a dish rack to name a few - but he had everything necessary to prepare his pancakes. There was a small clinking of feet as a doll entered the kitchen; he didn't bother to look who as he pulled out eggs and milk from the fridge.

"What're you doing," Gilbert asked. "You don't usually make dinner this early."

Matthew placed his ingredients on the counter and examined them before remembering to get the vanilla extract out of the cabinet. "I'm making pancakes. Pancakes are good for anytime."

Gilbert made a face, climbing up onto the table. "Uh, sure, anytime, but they're gross?"

He nearly dropped his mixing bowl on the floor, which would have been a disaster. He whirled around and stared horrified at the doll. "How can you say that? Pancakes are the best!" Pancakes had always been a comfort food for him. His mom would make them for him whenever he asked, which was often. Many mornings it would just be them in the kitchen combining flour, eggs, and more in a bowl and stirring it up into a fluffy goodness. His mother had long since taught him her recipe, but he found his pancakes never matched up to hers no matter how many he made. She always said his were better, but she's his mom and had to say that. So for Gilbert to insult the idea of pancakes so openly like that was a punch to the gut.

"You're crazy," Gilbert said, looking at him like he really was crazy. Matthew wanted to smack his porcelain face. "They're bland as shit. I've had porridge tastier than those fucking things."

Matthew's eyes narrowed. "Take that back."

"Or what?" Gilbert cocked an eyebrow, hands coming to rest on his hips.

"I won't give you any of my delicious pancakes," Matthew harrumphed. The ingredients had been abandoned on the counter. He'd get to them in a second.

Gilbert scoffed. "Like I want any."

He turned his back to the doll. "Fine, then. You can tell the others they're more than welcome to whatever I make, but you aren't." With that, he started making his batter, taking his time like his mother had taught him. Good pancakes came from patience and a practiced hand.

From behind, he could feel Gilbert roll his eyes at him. "Yeah, right. They probably don't want any either." He ignored him in favor of picking up the mixing bowl and pouring the batter onto a hot skillet.

Just a few minutes later, he had his first pancake done. The first always turned out the worst, but it still smelled and looked like a million bucks. He set it on a plate off to the side as he cooked up the rest of the batter. It was therapeutic, making pancakes; he didn't have to think think so hard because it was muscle memory at this point after years of practicing. Pour, wait, flip, wait, plate, repeat. All the while Gilbert was watching him. He could feel his gaze on the back of his head and could see him out of the corner of his eye. It was a little unnerving, but it wasn't too bothersome. At least he was quiet. When he was finished, he picked up his stack of pancakes and moved them from the counter to the table and went back for the syrup in the cabinet. By the time he turned back, which was only a matter of _seconds_ , Gilbert had ripped a small piece off the top pancake and was biting into it. He freezed when he noticed Matthew's disapproving stare on him.

"What're you doing," he asked.

"No-ff-ing," Gilbert replied around a mouthful of pancake. He maintained eye contact with Matthew as he began chewing it. When he finally gulped down the food, his eyes were impossibly large. "What the fuck," he whispered in wonder, making goo-goo eyes at the pancakes. He started to go for another piece, but Matthew stopped him. He looked up with a pout.

"I'll ask again. What're you doing?"

Gilbert seemed to snap back into himself. He cleared his throat, but when he started to talk it sounded too high, so he cleared it again. "It smelled good," he began, "so I ate some. And now I'm going to eat some more." Once again, Matthew had to pull him away from the pancakes. Gilbert whined and glared at him.

"I thought you didn't like pancakes," Matthew told him innocently as he started to drown his pancakes in syrup. "I wouldn't want to force you to eat anything you don't want to, Your Highness." He got a fork from the silverware drawer and sat down, glancing back at Gilbert only to find his glare had morphed into disgust. Matthew frowned. "What's with that face?"

"Why the hell did you just up and ruin them?"

Matthew took even more offense to this. "I did not just ruin them. Have you never had syrup on panca- nevermind, you don't even like pancakes." It had been so long - from the time he had gotten home until now - but he finally got to eat his pancakes. He stuffed a rather large piece into his mouth and he felt like he ascended to heaven.

Until he was brought back down to Earth by Gilbert. "They were already good, why would you put that crap on them?"

He made a sound halfway between a groan and sigh and nudged the plate towards Gilbert. "Just try it." Gilbert looked at him skeptically but ultimately tugged a crumb-sized bite (which was a decent size in doll scale) and put it in his mouth. If he had been blown away from the first bite he had had, adding syrup made him implode. Matthew laughed at his face.

" _Mein Gott_ ," he breathed. " _Das ist gut._ " He jumped back into action, reaching out for more and Matthew quickly pulled him away. He scowled at Matthew like he had just kicked a puppy. " _Why_? Why are you so _mean_?"

Matthew fixed him with a stare. "You'll get all sticky." Gilbert blinked and looked down at his hand; he flexed and clenched it and found that it was indeed sticky. "I don't exactly have doll-sized forks, but I might be able to find a toothpick or something. Hold on." He had no toothpicks, but he figured staples would work just as well.

Ten minutes later, he and the rest of the dolls, invited over by Gilbert, sat around the table (or, really, _on it_ ) eating pancakes using a fork (in Matthew's case) and staples. Oddly enough, it felt a lot like home.

* * *

* _Mein Gott. Das ist gut._ \- My God. That is good.


	8. Of Women's Underwear and Chubby Babies

**A/N: Guys, I am so sorry about my unintended month off. But let's get things back on track, yeah? Enjoy and have a fantabulous day! :)**

It just so happened that Matthew had to wait until the weekend to find time to go looking through the plethora of boxes in the attic, which was vaguely disappointing. However, it gave him uninterrupted searching time, and it was time well spent. Even the dolls were helping out, though they did make like a little more difficult. On the upside, they did speed up the process of searching.

So far, they had found a music box that had lost its tune, several dated dresses, a sewing machine, spools of thread and bobbins, a half-finished shirt, various gardening tools, and a set of tea cups and teapot. He had set the latter aside to take downstairs to wash and use - they were rather pretty. He knew his mother especially would appreciate them if she ever came to visit. He had yet to find Kirkland family photos, and he was seriously doubting if there were any, but he wouldn't call what they had looked through so far a waste - after all, he was a few teacups and a teapot recher. (And thread and whatnot, but he didn't particularly care about those. He might pawn the machine later.) Still, he was keeping optimistic.

Across the room, Francis was pawing through a new box, several behind him already, until he stopped in his tracks. " _Oh, la, la_ ," he purred. Matthew paid him no mind. "I think I found something." He motioned for Antonio and Gilbert to join him; they drop what they had been sorting through and made their way over. " _Regardez_." He tilted the box towards his friends and Matthew watched them with concealed curiosity - he wondered if whatever was in the box would be useful either with helping solve the curse or just flat out useful for everyday life. Or, most likely, just amusing. When they all started laughing, Matthew crossed his hopes for new useful things right out his mind and tried to block their howling out of his head. Each of them had their own distinctive laugh, which was a little peculiar, but all together, they sounded downright obnoxious.

They kept laughing for an exceeding amount of time and while the rest of their companions (thankfully) hadn't joined in with them giggling like maniacs over a box and actually stuck with their task at hand, they had yet to get back to doing anything useful. "Okay," Matthew sighed after a long while. "I'll bite. What's in the box?"

Gilbert calms down enough to throw him a smirk, eyes shining. "Women's underwear." Matthew huffed and closed his eyes to try to find his inner peace because _of course_ it was something as puerile and immature as that before going back to sorting through the box in front of him. He was almost to the bottom and, so far, there wasn't anything of interest except a single doily.

But then his hand hit the bottom and found that it wasn't cardboard. He frowned and actually _looked_ at what he had hit. It was a hard surface colored a musty white and seemingly had fanciful letters imprinted on it. He pulled the thing out and found it was a book, or maybe even a scrapbook. His heart leapt in hope as he read the words on the cover that had faded over time: _Kirkland Family - Daughters of Eunice_. He gently cracked the books open and, sure enough, there were the pictures.

In fact, there were a little over a hundred pages of pictures, at least two on each page.

His body slumped, tension from the excessive amounts of excitement and hopefulness leaving his body as his previously sanguine expression turned crestfallen. There was no way to tell who or even _if_ one of these women had cast the curse. He tried not to feel too frustrated; after all, maybe he would find another clue as he flipped through the pictures. If anything, and if he was lucky enough, he could find an embarrassing picture of Arthur Kirkland.

Unfortunately, there were none. The book ended with a picture of an old woman whose hair was tied up in an impressive bun and who had a rather chubby baby sitting on her lap. Matthew tried not to whine at the wasted time. (Though the picture was quite humorous; the baby and freakishly bushy eyebrows for a baby.) He plucked the picture off the page just to spiteful and flipped it around. On the back, to his surprise, read _Nanna and Guinevere (5 mon)_. He stared at the words pensively.

Hadn't Arthur Kirkland called _his_ grandmother 'Nanna?' So who was this woman, this 'Nanna?'

Matthew flipped a few pages back and tried to find another picture that featured the old woman and found one quicker than he thought he would. He carefully peeled it off its page and prayed it would have a name on the back. It did - _Victoria (age 60)_. He compared it with the picture of Nanna and Guinevere - it was definitely the same woman; as for the baby…. She had quite the eyebrows.

Was… was she Arthur Kirkland's mother? Guinevere's piercing green eyes half hidden behind eyebrows stared at him through the picture, silently judging him who knows how many years later. But, wait… Victoria was nicknamed 'Nanna,' so did that means this was Arthur Kirkland's great grandmother and both his grandmother and great-grandmother were called by the same name? That didn't seem logically sound, but the only other way that could make sense was for Guinevere to be Arthur Kirkland. And that was preposterous. (Arthur Kirkland had been born as a male named Arthur Kirkland; this Matthew was certain of.)

He apped the pictures against his lips thoughtfully. "Hmm." He brought them away from his face and gave them a long, hard stare as if they might produce an answer. "Hey guys," he called, not looking away from Victoria and Guinevere. "Have you found any other pictures?"

They hadn't. But they had found a jewelry box with a ring still left in it, a box of pillows, a few potion beakers, and some really old candy. He didn't even want to know how expired they were.

"Should we keep looking," Elizabeta asked, awkwardly clutching another swath of fabric half-in/half-out of a box.

Matthew regarded the pictures he had found. "No," he finally said. "Let's call it a day."

* * *

The rest of the day had been pretty calm. He got through some take home work and laze about reading an old book while the dolls kept to themselves. Kuma had come alongside Matthew on the couch to cuddle fora while, which was nice, until he called Matthew lazy and got up to leave to a different room. Matthew didn't make a comment on the bear's own laziness - he would just be ignored. Instead, he went back to reading and Roderich began to play soft melodic tunes on the tiny piano in the dollhouse.

Roderich was a terrific player, Matthew had discovered quite early on. He had been a concert pianist before this whole debacle, and had dreamed of having his own original compositions performed in front of an audience, and had even entertained the idea of becoming a conductor himself. Matthew was sure his dreams would come true after they broke the curse; after all, talent like Roderich's was hard to come by.

Matthew was about to get up and start making his dinner (and plan a trip to his mother's because really, he didn't feel like making dinner and pasta sounded good right about now) when Ludwig approached him. While he had spent an extensive amount of time with the dolls, Ludwig still wasn't one he knew very well. He was calm, collected, serious, dependable, and completely nothing like his brother. Matthew like him for his straight-to-the-point attitude and it helped that he was quick to call out Gilbert on his shortcomings and reprimand him. He also liked to keep Kuma company, claiming he had once had dogs of his own and, though Kuma was far from a trained and obedient dog, he was still a nice companion.

He made sure he had Matthew's full attention before stating, "I have a question that I was hoping you could answer or research."

Matthew nodded, bracing himself for whatever he was about to be asked. Best case scenario, he knew the answer, worst case he didn't. But Ludwig seemed very serious about this, more than usual. "Sure, what?"

The doll fixed him with a weighty stare as best as he could for only being a foot tall. "Do you know who is currently running our kingdom?"

* * *

* _Regardez_. = Look.

*I don't speak French. Please correct my translation if it's wrong/off.


	9. Matthew Williams: Attempted Research

The Monmouth Museum of World History was a pretty building. It was all arches and pillars in a juxtaposition of unity and disjointed parallelism. It screamed elegance and fortitude in its staggering disposition, widespread for a good four blocks and tiered three stories high. It had a blissful charm, aging gracefully in a way that other buildings could only ever hope to achieve. One look at the building told a person that it was older than some of artifacts it housed. The upkeep was impeccable - everything just as immaculate as the day it was completed.

Matthew entered the building confidently. Even when he realized he had no idea where he could possibly find anything about the Kingdom of Prussia. Luckily for him, the informations desk was front and center. Fifteen minutes later - because, _dang_ the place was big and built like a maze - he found what he was looking for.

It was a little exhibit tucked into a corner surrounded by other European histories. However, to Matthew, it stood out like it was the most important thing there. Oddly enough, he felt like the entire thing reeked of Gilbert - his standoffish ways and exuberant presence, borderlining on aggressive personality, along with his demand to be the center of attention. Matthew shouldn't have expected anything less for his country's exhibit - even Ludwig, for all of his level-headedness could not escape the intimidating, demanding facet of his personality that stood strongly on display for the museum.

Old shields and flags lined the walls, a pretty painting and a violin hung as well, each with their own plaques. In a glass case were various pieces of jewelry and a book, as well as other historically important artifacts. Thankfully, one case seemed to be dedicated to the royal family, which was exactly what Matthew was looking for. He leaned over it and began reading an extensive number of plaques underneath pictures of paintings.

 _General Benedikt from South_ \- No, looking for a king not a general.  
 _Princess Marie Louise, wife of Prince Charles, who died_ \- Hundreds of years ago.  
 _Duke Albert of_ \- Don't care.  
 _King Basch Edmund Johannes, successor of his uncle King Friedrich whose sons had disap_ \- Not import….

Matthew paused in his skimming and read over King Basch's plaque again.

 _ **King Basch Edmund Johannes  
**_ _Successor of his uncle King Friedrich whose sons had disappeared  
_ _Succeeded by daughter, Queen Erika Anna Lillian_

He quickly looked around for the daughter's - or even the uncle's to make sure that this was the right guy! - picture in a frenzy. What if they didn't have it? Which was ridiculous, why _wouldn't they_ but what if-? He found it.

 _ **Queen Erika Anna Lillian  
**_ _Successor of her father King Basch  
_ _Grandmother of current monarch, King Wilhelm Basch David_

Her grandson's picture was right below her, confirming that he was indeed the current monarch. Matthew sighed in relief. That was one question answered, but it added one more. He looked around for King Friedrich's plaque and found there was none, which was odd because seemingly everyone _else_ in the Prussian monarchy had one. But he couldn't find Friedrich's or a mention of Gilbert or Ludwig or Roderich and Elizabeta. That one single line in Basch's plaque was all there was.

He knew he could go straight home and answer Ludwig's question and have that be that, but he _needed_ to know what happened to their family history.

* * *

Just a little while later, Matthew found himself in Avalon University's library. It was vastly different from the public library back home. Memories of the place circled around emptiness and controlled disorganization. It had been a relatively small and quiet place. This library was large, much larger, housing thousands of thousands of books on an ever growing large variety of subject. He hadn't even made it very far into the building, but already he could tell there were a lot more people than he had ever thought actually went to a library - granted, a lot of them seemed to be students, but even then, he wouldn't be surprised if only a little less than half were the general public.

Everything was bathed in a pale yellow light, some sections verging towards a more reddish color so as not to truly harm the pages of the old texts there. There were several floors on which he could search for Prussian history and he wondered how he could ever possibly shorten the list of books he could read.

Well, there was no point dilly-dallying. He started pulling books off the shelf left and right if he thought they would be useful and went to sit somewhere to look through them.

Nearly an hour later, he found that most of them were too far back in history to be helpful, and others didn't focus on the monarchy at all. A few, however, mentioned King Friedrich or King Basch, but said nothing about his sons, and only the newer volumes spoke of King Wilhelm. Ultimately, he decided it would be worth going and picking out more books.

Through this second round of searching, he spotted one at the very end of the isle, a relatively small thing, entitled _Erika Vogel, Queen of Prussia: Attempted Magic_. As far as he knew, Gilbert, nor Ludwig and Roderich or any of the dolls, were magic users. They were all non magical and that, from Matthew's small bit of research, was something that metagnostic countries we're always known to take advantage of before realizing the Prussian army was a force in and of itself to be reckoned with, nonmagical notwithstanding. So he plucked the book off the shelf and brought it back to where he had been sitting to flip through.

He stopped as a passage grabbed his interest.

 _As she grew older, Erika Vogel became less caring and more open about her personal life and abilities. This is, of course, not a real marker of her potential power, and she never made any mention of having such powers, but every once and awhile, a member of a neighboring country's assembly would find themselves inexplicably hexed. Without any definitive proof, we cannot assume this was her doing as it could have been any magical person's doing._

 _Previously talked about, the Vogel family, or any Prussian nobility for that matter, has never had a record of magical persons. The Prussian people have prided themselves for surviving in a world that is increasingly in demand of magic when they themselves are nonmagical. That isn't to say that there has never been a magical person in Prussian history, just as they are far and few, and have definitely never been included into the Prussian nobility. However, just because it hasn't been recorded, does not mean that it hasn't happened._

 _After long hours of research, it has come to my and my colleagues attention that Erika Vogel was nowhere near as passive on the wrongdoings to her family as many scholars have believed her to be. A fable stemming from before her birth about the demise and disappearance on her great uncle Friedrich's sons was seemingly a story she had heard from her childhood._

 _While there is no official statement on the missing princes, or many records of them at all - likely destroyed in a fire, or sealed away - Erika's father had been quite the friendly cousin to them. He is the main believer of the theory that one Kirkland witch had been involved with the princes and their companions untimely end. This theory was passed onto Erika, as there had apparently been a meeting between her and Alice Kirkland, a known professional curse reverser - and, by extension, a curse maker. By this time, though, Alice Kirkland would have been extremely old in age, and there is no credible source for this encounter._

 _There is one thing that sticks out from this report, though. If this story is to be believed, Erika Vogel cast a curse on Alice Kirkland's granddaughter. The contents of this curse is, of course, unknown and the theory in its entirety is highly unlikely._

Well. Matthew has never been one to say no to the universe when it gives him a sign. He supposes that that's all he's going to find about Gilbert and Ludwig, still without name, but this outing hadn't all been for naught.

He headed home to share the news with Ludwig, and any other doll that cared enough to listen.

* * *

Ludwig was satisfied with Basch ascending the throne and his descendents after. "He is capable… or _was_ ," Ludwig had said. "Reliable and good with money. I can't say that about his great-grandson Wilhelm, of course, but I'm sure he's fine as well." All of the dolls seemed to be content with this knowledge, though Gilbert was petulantly saddened by the fact that even when the curse is lifted, he can't become the king and in fact his Crown Prince title had effectively been stripped long ago.

They were all saddened by the fact that they may not be welcomed or accepted back into their families when their curse broke. It was a difficult question with a more difficult answer - they had been missing for a century and should be dead, but they hadn't aged a day. Not even in maturity.

But, there was one bit of good news to this.

"I remembered more," Gilbert said proudly over dinner. Well, Matthew was eating; the dolls had decided they were too tired to attempt at eating.

Matthew smiled and put down his fork. "Let me hear it and decide if it's useful or not."

Gilbert pouted. "It's totally awesome information. She called me a rake."

"A-A rake?" The dolls were looking at him like this made perfect sense and was beyond helpful. "Why?"

Francis and Antonio snickered. "Probably because he tried to flirt with her," Francis said, hiding his chortle behind his fingers. "Gilbert fancied himself to be a lady's man."

Gilbert pushed his friend over. "Shut up. I wasn't as bad as you."

Matthew cleared his throat. "Define rake."

The definition of a rake in the way that it was supposedly used in the curse is as a wealthy man with promiscuous habits. It wasn't helpful in the way that it was just one of the many words to describe Gilbert. Or Francis or Antonio or, hell, his college friend from Korea.

"You gotta give me more than that," Matthew sighed looking forlornly down at his half-eaten dinner. "I'm glad you're remembering it slowly but surely, but please - it's not even a full line."

Gilbert grumbled something under his breath that suspiciously sounded like it had a lot of swears. "I can't remember the rest of the line," he said haughtily. "And even if I think I'm remembering it correctly, I don't think I am. Something about love, and curses, and rakes. I just don't know."

"Love," he asked incredulously. "What kind of love?"

"How should I know?" Gilbert shot back before hitting his hand against his face. " _Of course_ I should know." Francis laid an arm against his shoulders in attempt to comfort him. "Something about love shall break the curse on the rake, which is me, and my friends have a worser fate _for some reason I can't remember_." His shoulders were starting to shake and Matthew wondered for the first time if their doll bodies allowed them to cry.

Matthew tentatively placed a finger on Gilbert's head because he had nothing better to do as a symbol of comfort. He patted the twine hair awkwardly before saying, "Don't get frustrated. It's okay. Your friends have a worser fate you said? That's helpful. It is. And now I know that this curse centers around love which helps me narrow down the possibilities to break it. We'll figure it out."

"I'm not frustrated," Gilbert denied. "I'm angry. Damn right we're figure it out. I'm not staying as a fucking doll for the rest of my unnatural life." Matthew smiled wryly at him and Gilbert smirked back. "So, how many awesome books did you find about me and Luddy?"

Matthew sucked in a breath through his teeth and grimaced. "Well, see-"


	10. Buy a Cake It's Easier

**A/N: Does school ever just, I don't know, particularly dislike you? I have two papers due in May…. Which, I mean, that's a while (well, a week... omg it's almost May) from now, but like, together it's a minimum of fifteen pages, max nineteen. College suks, 'nuff said, so if the update schedule becomes more botched than it already is, blame my two English classes. I'll try my hardest, though.**

 **Anyways, happy Earth Day! Did you go to a science march today? I did and now I'm exhausted lol :) Have a wonderful day! :)**

It took a lot of digging, but eventually, Matthew found every book about curses, or that even _mentions_ curses, out of his boxes and scattered around the spare room downstairs that had those old sketches in the desk drawer. The dollhouse also had found its way into that room and it had been decided that it would be homebase for their curse-breaking task force.

With the final stack of books plopped down on the floor there, he looked around the room. It was greatly in disarray, but, hey, no better place to find an answer than in a mess. He was also planning to drag down that scrapbook in the attic here, as well as anything else he could possibly find useful up there - they technically hadn't finished sorting through those boxes because _damn_ did the Kirkland family leave a lot behind. Maybe he could even find a decent sized table in a garage sale somewhere and drag it in to hold some books off the floor. For now, he'd have to spare some energy to levitate them if he needed them somewhere else that wasn't on the desk or on the ground.

Speaking of that desk, those sketches were still in there. When he had gone through his house initially, he hadn't given them more than a cursory glance. He pulled the pictures out and examined them. He wondered which Kirkland they belonged to - they didn't exactly have a signature anywhere on them, which was poor form for an artist as talented as this one. Every charcoal sketch had whirling movements, graceful and elegant. He wondered if they had been charmed once upon a time to actually move, but he couldn't do it himself - he didn't know the spell to cast to get charcoal to move. In elementary school, learning to move graphite on a page was a little charm students taught each other to drive their teachers crazy, but that only worked for graphite (and chalk in you got lucky, but that wasn't easy). As far as Matthew knew, artists knew all sorts of different enchantments for different art mediums.

Maybe his mother would know.

If anything, it would be a shame to just drop the sketches back in the desk to gather dust for another eternity, so he tacked them up on the wall behind the desk for the hell of it. They didn't look to bad there and they brought a certain liveliness into a room that had long lost its use. Hanging them up felt like the room had regained its aspiration, though it had gained a new purpose. Instead of art, or sleeping, or anything it might have been in the past, it was now a place of research.

Oh, joy. But the room didn't seem to mind, so Matthew thought that was that and started organizing the books on the floor into relevant to least relevant.

* * *

There was little a man of Gilbert's size could do. Matthew could see his struggle - all of their struggle, really; those dolls weren't exactly subtle and were actually vivaciously vocal about their doll-sized limitations. Travelling around the house was tiring enough as it is (though Matthew wasn't sure if it was from doll joint wearing or they somehow still had muscles), they couldn't imagine going outside for a walk. Therefore, they were stuck inside the house at all times, dreaming of the day they could go out. Matthew had thought about taking them out before, even just out the backyard if they wanted, but he knew they simply wanted more human interaction.

Gilbert especially seemed to be withering away like that. Once upon a time, Francis and Antonio may have been the only companions he needed, but back then he could go and find someone else to entertain him for the day. Now they were it and it must be frustrating; Matthew can only _try_ to sympathize.

Currently, he was watching Gilbert climb up and down the stairs out of sheer boredom. It was a slow process for his size, but this was his third lap. (This also said a lot about the state of Matthew's own social life.)

Life was slow, and yet so long, and all he really wanted to do right now was sleep until he was needed again, but he had a lot of pent up energy and nothing to do with it. The dolls weren't very good racing companions; their tiny doll legs were just too short to keep up with Matthew's normal sized legs - they had tried before to have a relay. If anything, he could try to get Kuma to go on a run with him, but that bear was nowhere to be found and hadn't been around all day, really, which should be concerning, but there wasn't much trouble he could get into so it was fine.

"Hey, Gilbert," Matthew called out. Gilbert stopped descending and looked at Matthew hopefully, like somehow he could make his life more interesting. In all honesty, he hoped he would. "Wanna make, I don't know, a cake? With me?"

Gilbert snorted. "A cake? Is that the best you got?"

Fifteen minutes later found them with all of the ingredients to make a cake set out across the kitchen counters. It had to be a simple vanilla cake - Matthew was no master chef that had a million and one different flavored ingredients sitting around. But it didn't matter what flavor it was; a cake was a cake just like a boredom was a boredom that needed relieving or eating or whatever.

Unlike last time cooking with Gilbert around, he actually did more than stare. Probably because he was invited along and hadn't insulted the taste of the cake, but he was actually not that useful at all. In fact, he kind of sucked at cooking. He couldn't crack an egg with his tiny hands, nor could he pick up a cup of milk (nevermind the required two and three-quarters cups of flour the recipe called for), but he could scoop the tablespoon of baking powder and the half a tablespoon of salt.

Of course, he ended up accidentally dumping them on the floor.

"I always had people doing this for me," he claimed with a pout. "You should be happy that I'm even _trying_ , peasant." That comment had earned him a spot of egg-yolk in his hair. He squawked and immediately went to bat it off his head, which only served to spread it further along his body. Matthew tried not to laugh too much as he combined the ingredients properly and started to stir them together. Gilbert didn't even have enough muscle on his doll arms to do that. He could only sit unhappily and watch.

"This sucks," he declared after only a minute. "You offered to help you make a cake, but I can't do a fucking thing."

"You can help decorate it," Matthew proposed, setting aside the mixing bowl to turn the oven on and procure a round pan from his cupboard - he usually baked store-bought cinnamon rolls in it, but since he moved away from home, he hadn't used it. It would do just fine for the job, if a little too deep for the amount of batter they had made.

Gilbert perked up like a dog. "What do we have to decorate it? Frosting? Candies? Beer?"

"Fruit." He turned just in time to see Gilbert make a gagging motion and then choke on air when he noticed he got caught. Matthew smiled wryly before adding, "And syrup." Gilbert didn't look any happier with that answer, but that was all Matthew had and they were just going to live with it.

Ten minutes into it baking brought more boredom. They still had to wait thirty-five minutes and that was going to be thirty-five minutes of pure torture. Matthew wondered what all the other dolls were doing and if they were having as much non-fun as he and Gilbert were. They were sitting in silence, idly twiddling their thumbs without much else to do.

"Can we shape it to make it look like a bird?" Gilbert asked suddenly.

Matthew turned his head away from the bricking on the wall to look at Gilbert with reserved puzzlement. "A bird? Why?"

He shrugged. "I had a bird." His porcelain face was overcome with nostalgia and Matthew couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the bird after Gilbert disappeared on it.

"Oh, really?" he said instead of wondering that depressive thought aloud. "What was his name?"

A bright grin scrawled itself across his face. "Gilbird," he said proudly and Matthew had to refrain from facepalming at the pun. Of course Gilbert would name his bird after himself. "He was awesome." He paused and assessed Matthew. "You know, you kind of remind me of a bird."

Matthew choked on spit as he sputtered. "I - what? I remind you of a _bird_?"

Gilbert nodded. "Yeah. You're cute and your hair's soft." He said this so point-blank and without any trace of sarcasm Matthew had to fight down whatever blush wanted to spread from embarrassment.

A _doll_ just called him _cute_. He side-eyed Gilbert, too flustered by the actual compliment to look him in his little doll face, and drawled out a, "Sure."

They were quiet for another moment before Gilbert cleared his throat and said, "So, can we?"

"Can we what?"

"Shape it like a bird?"

"Oh, yeah, of course."

The only flaw in that plan was that neither Matthew nor Gilbert knew how to carve cakes. Oh, sure, it started out calmly enough, but then suddenly a rather large chunk of cake fell off, and then another, and then they were left with about fifteen different pieces of cake all of various sizes and the original mound - or what they're calling the original - remained the size of a golf ball. It was a disaster. They looked at their mess together apathetically. All of that work resulted in a pile of crumbs, a pile of _tasty_ crumbs, but crumbs nonetheless and definitely no bird shape to show for it.

Gilbert kicked a piece across the counter. "Who's gonna eat this shit," he asked.

Matthew sighed. "It's edible. I will, I guess. You guys too."

"Not me," he asserted, shaking his head. "I'm too disappointed in myself to eat it."

"Yeah," Matthew agreed. "I'll call Alfred. He'll eat it."


	11. A Guide to Uncoordinated Pranks

**A/N: Finals are over! The semester is over! Heck yeah! (Gosh, those two essays _murdered me_ and so did the bio final, jeepers creepers.) If your semester/school year is already over too, let's celebrate together. \\(^-^)/ If you still have more time, good luck and may you get an A. :D If you no longer attend school, I hope something nice comes your way. ^.^ Enjoy and have a fan-flipping-tastic day! :)**

"You know," Alfred said, mouth projectile spitting out pieces of cake, "your boss came 'round again." He swallowed and stuffed more crumbling bits into his mouth and Matthew tried not to wince with disgust. Honestly, his cousin could just be downright disturbing sometimes. "It was actually kinda funny 'cause he did a double take - I think he thought I looked like you 'cause I'm sure he knows your face now and we do look weirdly alike, so. Anyway-"

"Al, swallow," Matthew ordered. There was only so much he could take.

He swallowed and refrained from picking up more cake. "Right, whatever, I dunno why he came again, I mean he made it pretty clear he doesn't like nonmagicals, and that's basically all that the observatory is made of - freakin' nonmagical kick-ass scientists. Not that magic users become scientists much, but hey someone's gotta be, like, the first, right?" He flashed a brilliant smile and kicked his legs up on the table flippantly, tilting his chair back on two legs the way he knew that Matthew hated. Well, he hated the feet on his table just as much as he hated the anxiety that came with seeing a person lean back on a chair, potentially falling. Needless to say, while Alfred smiled, Matthew was frowning.

"And so," he continued, "he did a double take and came closer to where I was and I was like 'what?' Even though I _knew_ what. And he was like 'nothing.' Man, does he have a snooty voice. British, too; like, that's the epitome of snobbish snoot-itude. And I was like - because I have to, it's my job, and I really like my job, Mattie, seriously I need to take you some time, I'll get around to it I swear - and I said, 'Can I help you with anything?' And normally, I would add 'sir' 'cause you're supposed to be polite and blah blah blah, but like hell I'm gonna extend that kindness to him or some shit, so whatever. And you know what he did? You know what he _did_?" He leaned forward and placed his hands on the table. Matthew couldn't fathom how uncomfortable that position was, assuming Alfred hadn't been practicing stretches recently. He looked dead into Matthew's eyes and lowered his voice. "Do - you - _know_ \- what - he - did?" After a moment, Matthew realized he had to shake his head for Alfred to continue. Honestly, he was such a child sometimes. And like a child, he sprung up from his bent position and flung his hands into the air with agitation. "He said 'no' and walked away. He said ' _no_ ' and walked away! _He said 'no' and walked away!_ Oh my _God_! He's such a - such a - he's so - how do you put up with him?"

Matthew nodded sympathetically. They finished what remained of the cake, Alfred apparently having grown bored of hearing himself speak. When he finished, he patted his stomach and finally took his legs off of the table, but they were almost immediately raised again when they hit Kuma lazing about underneath who in turn growled form the unexpected kick. "Sorry, Kuma," he said, pivoting his body so his feet would land far away from the bear. "Thanks for the cake, Mattie. Why'd'ja make it anyway? Whatcha been up to?"

He shrugged, getting up and placing the empty plate in the sink. "Work, being bored, you know, nothing new." He sat back down and Alfred quirked an eyebrow like he didn't actually believe him. "I've been rearranging stuff in the house, too."

"Oh, yeah? Like what? Have you been up to the attic? Is it haunted?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Yes. And no it's not haunted. There's just a bunch of stuff up there - I have a new teapot, if you want to know. It's in the cupboard; it's pretty. I don't know why it was left behind. And all the books - so many books, Alfred! And sewing supplies."

"So women lived here," Al surmised. He nodded to himself. "Yeah. Of course you'd be happy-surprised by all that shit, but didja find anything cool?"

Let it be known Alfred F. Jones was easily amused. This was a known fact of life, or at least Matthew's life, and it was something he liked to take advantage of. Like the time Matthew found a whole bunch of bugs underneath an old piece of cardboard in his backyard and when Alfred had come over to inspect what he was grimacing at, had satisfied himself by playing with them for a few hours. Until Aunt Martha caught them - one little boy covered almost head-to-toe in bugs and the other laughing at him. Or the time Matthew's neighbor Ms. Bernadette gave him some of her extra string so that he could practice drawing big, precise circles on the ground and the next time Alfred and his mom visited, he had spent the afternoon putting knots in it because apparently it was fun. Matthew hadn't thought it was amusing. He, however, did find it amusing when Alfred had found enjoyment from trying to count every star in the sky when they were teenagers - there had been many letters via Hero about how many times he had lost count.

All in all, there were a number of things Matthew could have had Alfred amuse himself with from up in the attic, but at the moment, he didn't care for a single one of them. Only one.

"You want to see the best things I found up there," Matthew asked him conspiratorially, leaning over the table, arms up and crossed on it, eyes shining bright. His cousin took the bait and nodded enthusiastically. "C'mon then." He nodded his head in the direction out the kitchen before getting up and leading the way.

They stopped before a closed door. _The_ closed door. The one to Curse Breaking Headquarters. The reaction from Alfred was slightly intimidating him because what if Alfred never came back? But then again, Matthew had been burning to tell _someone_ about the cursed dolls and Alfred was a prime person - weak in the knees at anything freaky, but always searching out a thrill. Well, this was freaky and he was thrilled over anything hidden behind closed doors.

"Go ahead," Matthew said. "I think you'll really like what's on the desk."

Alfred licked his lips in anticipation and confirmed he could open the door before doing so. His excited smile turned to annoyance. "A dollhouse?" Ah, man, was he disappointed. Matthew kept his giggles in through strong force of will. "I'm not a little kid, Mattie. Also, it's pink."

He smiled brightly, like a shark might before taking a bite. "Yep! Very pink!" He pushed Alfred in the room, making him squawk indignantly, and locked the door behind them.

Once he regained his balance, Alfred whirled around with a vexed look on his face. "Why'd you do that," he demanded. He glanced at Matthew's hand still on the lock. "Did you just lock us in? _Why_?" He made a grab for the door handle, but was blocked.

Matthew smiled innocently. "So it's harder for you to run away."

"What?"

"What?"

"What did you-"

"Go open the dollhouse, Alfred," he suggested, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him around so he faced the dollhouse again. Alfred looked back with a skeptical expression, but he did as told. He approached the house without an ounce of hesitance - it was just a kids' toy, there was _nothing_ scary about that. (Besides talking dolls, of course, but Alfred didn't quite know that yet.) When he looked back one last time, Matthew tried his best to keep a poker face.

 _Gosh, is this going to be awesome_ , Matthew thought.

Alfred pushed the sides of the house open one after the other. The dolls, for their part were sitting with perfect smiles on their faces. (To be perfectly honest, though, Francis was making a kissy face, Gilbert was smirking, Ludwig was scowling as always, Roderich looked vaguely disgusted, but Elizabeta and Antonio were smiling, so that had to count for something. Although, Elizabeta was holding a miniature frying pan as if it was a weapon, and Antonio had pulled his scabbard out of its sheath. So.) They were holding perfectly still and Matthew couldn't have asked for anything better - for an uncoordinated prank, this was going splendidly. He had thought they would have been moving when Alfred opened the house up, but it appeared they had a good sense of humor as well. Or, Gilbert also liked messing with scaredy-cats like Alfred and had gotten the others to comply. Either way, Alfred seemed oblivious.

Until, of course, he reached to pick Gilbert up. He examined him with bored eyes. "Why white hair," Alfred asked. "Is he supposed to be the grandpa?" He was looking over at Matthew, so he missed Gilbert's eyes narrowing in contempt and his head turning towards Alfred's ever so slightly more. Matthew shrugged, fighting hard to keep the smile off his face.

Alfred looked back down at the doll and seemed to tense upon realizing the doll had moved. But it only lasted a second, because his gaze returned to Matthew's with a fire. " _Ha ha_ , jackass" he sneered. "You're so immature. I finally get why you locked the door." He pitched his voice annoyingly high, meant to mimic Matthew's. " _So you can't run away_." He dropped the pitch. "Right. Yeah. Uh-huh."

Matthew held up his hands in surrender, faking guilt. "Hey," he said appeasingly. "I wasn't the one who insulted Gilbert." He wasn't trying so hard anymore to hide his grin.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Gilbert," he deadpanned. "So he _is_ the grandpa. Grandpa Gilbert."

That seemed to be the last straw for Gilbert. His posture (crossing his arms across his chest, legs standing shoulder width apart) dropped, arms stretching out to claw at Alfred's arms. Alfred went tense again, turning his head slowly to stare at Gilbert with unfiltered terror. Once Gilbert was sure he had Alfred's attention, he pinched at Alfred's skin as hard as he could. Alfred let go of him with a yelp and Gilbert landed on the table with a little, "Oof!" He scrambled to stand tall and puffed up his chest in an attempt to make himself larger, not that he needed to because Alfred with starting to shake. "Up yours, shithead," he said hotly. "I'm not that old."

There was a moment of pure, unadulterated, blissful silence before Alfred shrieked bloody murder. " _What the fuck?!_ " His voice had raised several octaves and many decibels of volume that, if Matthew had neighbors, he would have been worried about getting the cops called on them. (It was quite impressive. Any other day, he would have made a fantastic soprano opera singer.)

The piercing screech was enough for Alfred to shock himself out of his, well, _shock_ , that he managed to bolt as quickly to the locked door as he could. His nails raked across it, trying to shake the doorknob out of its place, pulling as hard as he could with the door shaking against its doorframe, continuing to scream at the top of his lungs. (" _Let me out! I'm going to die! Demon dolls! Mattie, what the fuck?!_ ") But in his haste, Alfred had forgotten it was locked. So, while he did that and failed to do that, Matthew was choking himself with peals of laughter.

* * *

It had taken time - _a lot_ of time - for Alfred to finally calm down long enough for Matthew to explain that _no_ , the dolls _will not_ hurt him and _yes_ , he _is_ safe and alive and _not_ dead yet, _nor_ will he be killed. He's _fine_. It took much too long to say this. Much too long.

They ended up on the couch out in the living room, Alfred cuddling a fluffy pillow and a glass of cold water in his hands. For the past five minutes, he had been chanting, "You're a jackass," around sips of water.

Yeah, yeah, Matthew was. But the alternative would have been never seeing Alfred's face when he realized the dolls were alive, and Matthew wouldn't replace that moment for the world.

The dolls, for their part, were sitting before them on the coffee table, smiling creepily at Alfred. (Well, smiling. Roderich looked constipated, Ludwig was still scowling, Gilbert was still smirking, Elizabeta looked smug, and Francis looked satisfied. Antonio, though, Antonio was smiling politely.) They seemed unaffected by Alfred's insults and were waiting patiently for him to finish his freakout before speaking some more.

When the water had finished, Alfred looked calm enough, so Matthew attempted to explain himself (not that there was much to explain, it had simply been a prank), but Alfred cut him off quickly. "With all seriousness, Matthew," he started, "what the _fuck_?"

He cringed, but knew that Alfred couldn't stay mad forever. "Um," he said eloquently. "They were in the attic. I woke them up. They were human, but they were cursed. So, they're like that now. And we're still searching for a way to fix the problem."

Alfred just sighed, a long and withering thing that seemed like all it wanted to do was diffuse into the air until it became one with nirvana and no longer had to deal with creepy dolls or jackass cousins. He looked at the dolls hard. "Cursed, huh?"

"Yup," Gilbert drawled, popping the p.

He nodded and pointed to Antonio. "Is that thing for real? The sword?"

Antonio nodded enthusiastically, waving his sword around. " _¡Sí!_ It'd feel like a pinprick to you, but it was quite deadly when I was human sized!" He said this with a smile on his face and Matthew made a note to himself to never get on the Spaniard's bad side. "It can cut through just about anything in one swipe," he continued. "Except for that handkerchief." He frowned, looking down at his treasured sword.

"A stupid handkerchief," Al asked indignantly. Matthew felt the same, as did the rest of the dolls. It was, afterall, such a weird object to not be able to cut through.

Antonio just nodded forlornly. "I think it's protected by a spell or something. Whoever did it must have really liked it."

Alfred gave Matthew a look out the corner of his eye. "A hanky," he said plainly. "Even Grandpa Franklin isn't that anal over his hankies." Matthew shrugged in response making Al roll his eyes. "Where is this thing, anyway?"

Matthew took a moment to pause as Antonio answered the question. ("In the dollhouse.") Clearly, they were talking about the handkerchief being used as a tablecloth, which he hadn't originally thought much of, but if it was enchanted to not be torn or ruined, then it gave more of an indication of what type of magic they were up against. Usually small enchantments like that faded away over time, but either somebody recently renewed it, or the person who made it was powerful. Which also didn't make sense because why would someone bother making sure their handkerchief didn't get ruined for the next eternity and a half? And if they were going to do that, why keep in it in the dollhouse? As a _tablecloth_? (" _Sí_ , I've tried to cut it many times. _Nada, un montón de nada_.")

Alfred tapped the side of the glass he was still holding, a little _tink tink_ of a sound (slightly annoying to the ears). He hummed thoughtfully. "Have you tried setting it on fire?"

* * *

Notes:

* _Nada, un montón de nada._ = Nothing, a lot of nothing.

*I hope you all understand that _sí_ means _yes_ and I don't have to translate it (even though I just did).


	12. Quick Question, but Who is Lancelot?

**A/N: Hi, guys. I'm sorry. I thought we were in the clear and then life through a hard ball. If you can, give your pet a hug, a kiss, and an "I love you" from me, please and thank you. And if you're willing, send a little prayer to my pretty pup in heaven, yeah?**

 **I love you all. Honestly and truly. You guys are so great and I really don't want to disappoint you. This past week, I've gotten back into the groove of writing, and fully intend to keep it up. If I start falling behind, yell at me lol Have a fantastic day/Canada Day/Independence Day/weekend!**

"Could you file this for me please, Matthew," Arthur Kirkland asked, not looking up from his desk, but waving a stack of papers in his direction anyway. Matthew took it with a sigh. Being a teacher's assistant was boring a lot of the time, and being Arthur Kirkland's teacher's assistant was downright miserable.

After last night, long and tiring and Alfred refusing to go home because he wanted to help, Matthew was a dead man walking (or at least, sleep-deprived, which is highly dangerous in and of itself). And knowing that he had to spend a day here with possibly the worst boss on the planet was killing him slowly inside. He doesn't want to do anything today but sleep off his exhaustion, but he gets started on filing anyway. However, if it was possible to not be an adult that has to do adult things, Matthew's life would be much happier, easier, calmer, and above all else, filled to the brim with hours and hours of sleeping. And pancakes. Lots of pancakes.

A few short minutes later after filing at snail's pace, Arthur Kirkland seems to notice. "Are you feeling sluggish," he asked, stopping in his work.

Matthew smiles politely (tiredly) at him and says, "My cousin visited yesterday and kept me up half the night talking about haunted dolls."

It had been exhausting. Alfred kept going off on tangents about curses and how they were applied to people, why they were applied to people, and how to get them unapplied to people. Then he would digress into unwarranted stories relating to his own life and memories without presenting new information, while still calling it relevant. Gilbert had found it amusing and egged him on until they ended up talking about the best Saturday morning cartoons on air twelve years ago and why they were fundamental to a child's learning, which they were _not_ in any way shape or form. Alfred was about as helpful with solving curses as he was making them, which is to say, not at all.

"Ah. How rude of him." Judging by his face, Arthur Kirkland has never had this problem. But the saving grace was that he hadn't completely ignored him as he was prone to doing.

"Yes," Matthew replies for propriety. While Arthur Kirkland ignored him sometimes, he himself did not like being ignored. It was something Matthew had learned early on in working with him. The man was full of hypocrisies - metagnostisism included.

For a few blissfully quiet moments of filing, Matthew thought that that was the end of the conversation and he could get on with his life. But Arthur Kirkland decided to ask a question.

"Why haunted dolls?"

He cringed. Of all the things he doesn't really want to talk about…. Especially not to Arthur Kirkland. "I found some dolls up in the attic," he said. With any luck, that'll be the end of the conversation.

Evidently, luck is not on his side today. Or last night. Possibly never, judging by the fact he found cursed dolls in his attic.

"Oh!" Arthur Kirkland exclaimed, his work apparently forgotten. "Really? What else is up there? I didn't bother clearing out the house; I figured it was all garbage anyway."

Most of it was garbage, there was no getting around it. Still he said, "A lot of sewing supplies. And I found an old family photo album."

Arthur Kirkland raised a giant eyebrow; Matthew hadn't known eyebrows could be blended in with the hairline when raised, but he stood corrected. "Is that so?" he asks. "I might ask for that." That was understandable; it was after all his family and not Matthew's.

"Of course." He pauses and is unsure if he wants to continue, but he feels that since Arthur Kirkland has continued this conversation long past where had originally thought it would end, he may as well try. He schools his nerves before adding, "I found a picture in it of your grandmother, I think. You called her 'Nanna,' right?" He glances away from the file to his boss, who nods.

"Yes." He looks skeptical, unsure of where Matthew was leading the conversation. It's weird having the upperhand, but he doesn't really want to let it go anytime soon.

Matthew nods. "It was a picture of her and Guinevere - is that your mom or cousin or someone?" This was it, the moment of truth. Who was that fat baby?

To his surprise, Arthur Kirkland curses under his breath."That bloody woman," he mumbles, seething. Matthew wouldn't be surprised he he started foaming at the mouth, but he manages to collect himself without much incident. He looks uncomfortable as he elaborates for Matthew's sake. "It's, hah, not my mother, or my cousin… it doesn't matter who it is." He looks away sharply.

Well, now he wants to know even more. Trying to keep his disappointment underwraps, he nods his head solemnly. "Sorry. I shouldn't have pried." He goes back to his work and tries to forget he even asked because, honestly, he's worried Arthur Kirkland might use this to blackmail or fire him one day. He should have kept his mouth shut and stayed in his boss's good graces.

About a minute goes by before he hears Arthur Kirkland hum and say, "Well, since you asked. It's me."

Okay. Matthew _had_ considered that as a possibility, but he isn't quite sure he heard right because… because it just didn't make sense. There is no discernable reason for him to disclose that information to anybody, nonetheless Matthew. And why in the first place would that information be true? In what world?

He needs to confirm he heard correctly before saying anything else. "Pardon?"

Arthur Kirkland sighs, exasperated. "My mother expected to give birth to a girl, after all. She picked the name Guinevere and, upon realizing that I was a boy, changed it to Arthur." He frowns deeply like it was something that truly bothered him. "Nanna, however, refuses to acknowledge I'm a man and continues to call me Gwen."

"No…." Matthew trails off with disbelief. "You're joking." He has to be joking. There's no way.

He fixes him with a stare, looking for all the world done with life. Matthew had never seen him look so… _human_ before. "I wish," he said pointedly before turning his bemused expression completely serious. He waves a finger at him, as if to emphasize a point. "You can't tell anyone, do understand? Colleague confidentiality."

Matthew nods. "Yes, sir." There isn't anyone he can think of to tell anyway, except Alfred.

Yeah. He'll tell Alfred. But not the whole thing, just bits.

After that, it's like a light has been switched. Arthur Kirkland continues to chat about inane things throughout the day that he doesn't really ask about, but gets answered anyway. By the end of the day, he knows Arthur Kirkland has three cats named Pookie, Mocha, and James, he wanted to be the King of Mars when he was five years old, and that his Nanna lives over on Canterbury Road in the retirement homes.

Matthew doesn't know what to do with this information yet.


	13. Stupid Ideas Include Love and Old Ladies

**A/N: Next week, it will be a year since I published the first chapter. That's exciting. It's also a little sad that this isn't completed yet. However, I'm unwilling to drag this on longer than a year. So, please expect this to be finished by January 14, 2018. And if it isn't, please do not hesitate to send me messages riddled with swear words and vague insults.**

"A kiss of love," Gilbert said, quite out of the blue. He was reclining on the couch armrest, an arm behind his head, gazing pensively at the ceiling.

He'd been quiet for some time as Matthew and the others played chess to relieve some boredom - Francis and Antonio in particular were acting as the white knights, moving across the board on Elizabeta's command. Roderich was the white king, sitting miserably in the square per his wife's request, while Ludwig watched the strategy (poor strategy on Matthew's part; Elizabeta was practically eating him alive) with rapture. It'd been a good half hour, struggling against her to maintain a few pieces on the board as she slaughtered him for all he was worth. Francis and Antonio especially had fun offing various black pieces, kicking or punching them down, flinging them off the board, standing on the spaces they once stood and danced on "their graves." They had to be, in Matthew's opinion, the most entertaining part of the game.

Gilbert had chosen not to join, though he would have made an excellent rook or bishop - or even queen. He had watched in the beginning, making snarky comments at Matthew's poor choices, but sometime in he had lost himself to his thoughts.

Watching as yet another one of his pieces was murdered, he turned his attention from the game to fix Gilbert with a bemused stare. "There is no love in chess."

"Only victory," Elizabeta surmised, standing smugly with her hands on her hips as she surveyed her win - or, rather, what was to become her win after, quite literally, one more turn.

Gilbert shook his head. "That's not what I meant," he said. He pushed himself up and faced the others properly. "And I'm not entirely sure I'm right, either. But - because I am awesome and everything I say is by default awesome as well - but I'm almost positive a kiss of love should do the trick."

Truth be told, Matthew thought he kind of sounded like a crazed man bent on finding the secret to eternal life. Not making sense while believing he made perfect sense.

" _Mon cher_ ," Francis purred tenderly. "You've lost us."

"I'd say he's lost _it_ ," Roderich muttered under his breath.

"Ha," Gilbert snorted. "What is it like to be you unawesome, dumb people?" He rolled his eyes at his companion's shouted complaints and Matthew's own eye roll. " _Anyway_ , since all of you can't keep up with my thought process-"

("I didn't even know you could think!")

"-I'll just go ahead and - hey! I've been doing a lot of thinking nowadays, thank you very much, Liz." There was a collective giggle at "nowadays." Well, Francis guffawed and Ludwig only cracked a smile, but generally, the thought of Gilbert thinking was to some degree hilarious. "I'm not sharing then. You can all go fuck yourselves in the dark." And with that, he went right back to reclining and ignoring everyone in the room.

The rest of them shared a look in the slight awkwardness they had created, but eventually Matthew took his next turn, leaving his king wide open for Elizabeta to move into checkmate. Before she could rejoice in her victory, Gilbert declared, "I miss Gilbird!"

There was a collective, "What?"

Gilbert pretended not to hear them and mumbled to himself, "Gilbird was a great listener. Way better than my asshole friends."

* * *

Matthew wasn't sure what possessed him to do this. He was pretty sure it was the little voice in his head that sounded a lot like Alfred telling him to do dumb and daring things, things that could potentially end up horrible, but he listened to it anyway in a moment of poor judgment, so here he was. This place, here, where he had no reason to be other than that he was insatiably curious. Is curious really the word for it, though? It was the closest word he had.

As it was, he stood in front of Avalon Retirement Homes, the place where old people lived, because the stupid voice in his head told him to go visit Nanna Kirkland. The building was nice, posh, fitting for a Kirkland and- gosh, _why_ in the _world_ had he come _here_? How would he even get in to visit Victoria Kirkland? This was not a well thought out plan! Plus, what would he say to her? How would he explain his presence?

And even though these thoughts were racing through his head in a dizzying way, his feet decided there was too much thinking and not enough action as they started to lead him through the extensive gardens and into the heart of the homes, winding their way around the sidewalks as they brought him closer to the building where Victoria Kirkland resided in, or at least the address The Magically Yellow Pages had given him.

He wasn't even sure what had possessed him to look up her address, only that afterwards he had concluded it was creepy he had even done it and then _creepier_ that he had memorized it in the span of a few seconds.

This decision was bad all around.

But before he could fully comprehend the true stupidity of his uncharacteristic impulsiveness (honestly, that was more of _Alfred_ 's thing), he was standing in front of her door.

He'll just knock once and if nobody's home, he'll go home. Yeah.

He's been hanging out with Alfred too much.

He knocked.

To his surprise, a voice called out, "Come in if you're not selling anything." How much company did this woman get? Matthew blinked in surprise and really wondered if it was okay for him to go in or not.

The voice in his head that sounded like Alfred's told him to enter, and so he did because apparently the voice in his head that sounded like his own had been put to sleep sometime the night before.

"Ms. Kirkland," he called as he entered, moving cautiously through the inside of the apartment.

Frankly, Victoria Kirkland kept her home in a state of disarray. There were books and scraps of paper piled everywhere, creating a maze like feeling, and there were doilies set atop every so often as to give the impression that they were actually tables. There was light, it was well lit, but Matthew couldn't discern where it was coming from - the light streaming in from the two large windows was being obstructed by the stacks. But there seemed to be light coming from above, though there was no skylight.

It was giving Matthew a bit of deja vu. Victoria Kirkland's home looked a lot like Arthur Kirkland's office, if a little less contained. In a flash, it hit Matthew that he had just entered his _boss's_ grandmother's house. This was all levels of wrong and unprofessional.

"Ms. Kirkland," he called out again, more timid than before when he hadn't received a response. He rounded possibly (hopefully) the last corner of the book maze and came upon the site of Victoria Kirkland, wrinkly lady, sitting and sipping tea on a doily covered couch.

She raised a drawn on eyebrow and set her teacup on a nearby floating book. Matthew took a quick glance behind him and, _yes_ , actually, that was the only book floating. Not that there would have been much room for other books to float. His attention snapped back to her in an instant, almost feeling like she had made him. She regarded him coolly. "And who might you be?" Her voice was raspy and weakened by age, but it held confidence and regality, as if she knew with certainty that everyone was beneath her.

He cleared his throat and then swallowed immediately after. This was a stupid idea. "I'm Matthew Williams," he introduced, pits sweating and legs shaky. What a truly stupid idea. "I'm a… friend of your grandso-granddaughter. Of Gwen's."

If she had even heard his slip up, his own death sentence, she didn't seem to care. She almost looked pleased that he had misgendered Arthur Kirkland, as if Matthew had just confirmed her every belief and was gloating over it. His stomach felt queasy and all he wanted to do was leave. This was a bad idea.

She shifted, face losing some of its rigid composure, wrinkles becoming a little more defined. She didn't see him as a threat. "And why has my dear Gwen's _male_ friend decided to pay me a visit?" She said 'male' like one might usually say a slur.

He gulped. He's going to sound stupid. "Oh, well, that's. I moved into your old house." She cocked her head, skin flaps falling to one side. Did she even have muscle under there at all? "And… I, uh-"

"Out with it, filthy boy."

"Right." Get it out and over with, then. "I was wondering about the dolls in the attic."

That seemed to grab her interest. She sat up straight, looking at him intently, her eyes alight with curiosity. It made her almost look youthful. "Dolls?" she asked. "Did you find my dolls?"

Matthew blinked in surprise. "Your dolls?" So they had an owner. But she looked a little skeptic; maybe not? He pressed on anyway. "There's six and-"

She leapt to her feet with a grace he would not have attributed to her. "My dolls! You've found my dolls!"

"Yes," he responded automatically and then backtracked a little. "I guess." He shook his head to clear it as she leaned forward with interest, her sagging skin jiggling around in such an unappealing fashion that he wished to have his eyes surgically removed. "I was wondering, though, really about-"

She advanced on him, moving so swiftly he cut off in surprise. "Give them to me," she demanded, hands reaching out for his shoulders. Though she didn't seem like she could do any real physical damage, he stepped away. This was getting a little too creepy for him. "I always regretted letting Elizabeth play with them," she continued, her voice growing a little more hurried, as if he may rescind his nonexistent offer of bringing them to her. "She almost woke them up. Give them to me."

Matthew paused. Elizabeth wasn't a name he was familiar with, but he would bet anything it was Arthur's mother. Which means that the dolls may have been passed down from someone else and that their mortality, _actual_ life was something that was…

"Woke them," he repeated lowly, almost disbelieving. "You _knew_?" How could someone keep human lives like that? Did she feel no pity or sorrow? To play with them as if they were actual toys was just….

He felt nauseous.

"My dolls," Victoria Kirkland repeated. And then her stony gaze fixed itself on him again, like she could burn a hole right through him, or even make him freeze by pure willpower alone. "Did you wake my dolls?" Her voice was as serious as the grave, deadly and dangerous in the way that set alarm bells ringing loudly in his head. She kept moving closer to him and he kept moving away. Her face screwed up in a shrew-like anger, her voice reedy and desperate. "Mummy said not to! You can't have! Where are my dolls?" Her arm lashed out at him.

 _I need to go_. "I need to-" He ran before he could finish, not glancing back in case she followed him.

"Come back!" she yelled after him, flimsy old voice shrieking shrilly. "Bring me my dolls!"


	14. Snail Pace is Therapeutic

**A/N: I realized just after I posted chapter thirteen the other day, I did not wish you all a happy New Year. I deeply regret that and apologize with all the sincerity I have. Happy New Year to you all; I wish you the best and bless you with happiness and success in whatever form it decides to take for you as you live through another year. May 2018 be better, kinder, and prosperous. I love you and thank you for all the love and support you gave me last year.**

 **I also did not wish you all a nice day last time either. I also regret that and feel apologetic. Please forgive me as I say I hope you had a wonderful Monday. Today as well, have a wonderful day! :)**

Matthew was still deeply unsettled by the time he returned home. His skin felt magically charged, like he was building up to use an immense amount of power, or when someone directed their own magic at him - which is likely to have been the reason. But it was weird because he couldn't remember Victoria Kirkland actively throwing her magic at him in even an unharmful way. It made his nerves even more on edge. He was visibly more skittish than he normally was as he drove up his driveway, knuckles gripping white on the steering wheel, entire body tense in a way that was not going to feel very comfortable tomorrow.

Victoria Kirkland's sagging flesh jiggled itself across his eyelids each time he blinked, her raspy voice echoing in his ears even when he cranked the radio up. His skin itched and itched and he was pretty sure he was sweating everywhere.

As days went, Matthew's had better.

He had just stepped into his house, breathing as regularly as he could at the moment, when Kuma lifted his head from the couch and said, "Did you throw up?"

"No," he said, making his way over and sitting heavily, his head collapsed in his hands as he fought away the nauseous feeling in his stomach.

"You should." Kuma put his head back down and went back to sleep. Matthew would have scoffed at the bear's helpless advise any other time, but right now his advice was sounding a little less help _less_ and a little more help _ful_.

He swallowed his excess spit in his mouth and regulated his breathing. In and out. In and out. In an-

Footsteps approached, tiny ones. About three pair. He didn't look up, nor did he greet them in any way. His energy was draining as the magic bled off his skin and dissolved through the air as if it was never there. Or maybe it just felt comfortable to do so in a house it used to fly freely in.

He shivered. He slept in the same house Victoria Kirkland grew up in.

A doll climbed its way onto the cushion and hopped its way into his lap. It was Gilbert of course, his signature smirk falling away in place of a face of worry. "Hey," he greeted. "You okay?"

He swallowed hard again and lifted his head off his hands, looking away from Gilbert (and Francis and Antonio who had come with him, still on the floor, gazing up at him with concern evident on their porcelain faces.) He couldn't look at them, not when he knew that they had almost had a chance years and years ago to wake up and actively try to end their curse, but had creully been - "I'll be fine... in a moment."

Francis walked forward and placed a tiny hand on his leg, patting it softly. "What happened, _mon cher_ ," he asked. Antonio came to stand by him, placing an arm around Francis's shoulders, and gazed up earnestly at Matthew. Matthew gave them a quick glance before he looked back out the window, eyes going a little blurry.

"I just," he started but broke off because he didn't know how to finish. _I just learned something about the time when you were asleep. I learned you were used as toys and treated like possessions. I learned that they used you knowing you were alive._ He took a deep breath and tried again. "I - I - I just don't feel that good right now. It's nothing."

He went to bed feeling like a disappointment, a deceiver, and disgusted with himself.

* * *

He called in sick to work the next day. Arthur Kirkland either did not notice or did not care that he did not sound sick at all.

Though he was not physically sick, he could not shake the weird feeling inside of him. It was like that time in sixth grade Alfred had sent a hex in a letter that had left him bedridden for four days for no other reason than the fact that something felt off but neither he nor his mother could figure out _what_. According to Alfred, the hex he had sent was a type of laziness spell that the had accidentally put too much magic into.

That was really the first time Matthew was truly thankful that Alfred struggled with magic; if he accidentally did things like that, he would be a thousand times worse if he could purposefully do those things.

But this didn't feel like laziness. It felt sad and angry, irritated but resigned. Staring at the wall made him feel worse but he didn't know what else to do. He wasn't even hungry.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, Kumajerkface _was_ hungry and he wasn't afraid to barge right into Matthew's room and announce it as loudly as he could.

Matthew looked over at him apathetically. "Get Toni to feed you," he said in response before settling back uncomfortably into his pillow.

" _Feed me_ ," Kuma demanded. He hopped up onto the bed, one of his paws landing onto Matthew's stomach. The air was punched right out, forcing Matthew to sit up properly and do his best to remove the paw. "Toni doesn't make my food right."

"It comes out of a can!" How in the world do you mess that up? Matthew usually opened it and then plopped the goopy mess straight into the bowl. Bullshit Toni can't make it right.

Kuma just pouted, his round eyes wide and shiny. That face used to get him whatever he wanted, but Matthew was no longer young and naive. He was immune to Kuma's pouting face now. Because he was an adult. And adults had standards and pride and immunity to cute, fluffy, adorable animals.

Adults also had responsibilities like feeding their pets. And that responsibility was the only reason Matthew dragged himself out of bed to feed Kuma even though Antonio could have. Antonio would have loved to feed Kuma. He's nice like that. But Matthew is a responsible adult. An adult. Who is immune to pouty faces. He's responsible.

"You're annoying," he whispered to Kuma as he set the bowl down.

"I'm cute," Kuma said. He started munching his food away. Matthew didn't notice how cute he looked when he did. Because adults have standards and pride.

"I'm cuter," said a voice behind him.

"Wrong," Kuma said in between bites.

Matthew turned just in time to see Gilbert flipping the bird at his pet. Gilbert who is supposed to be every bit as mature and adult-ish as Matthew. Gilbert who caught Matthew staring at him right now because Matthew caught him pointing his middle finger at a miniature polar bear who was too sassy for his own good.

"I," Gilbert started, "am too awesome to have just been silently cursing out an animal. Whatever you saw was a figment of your imagination, Birdie."

There was a multitude of ways Matthew could respond to that, but as he was still feeling guilt about yesterday, he went with a simple, "Morning, Gilbert."

And apparently that was the wrong thing to say because it was already afternoon. Where had his morning went? Had he really spent that long staring at his wall? And did Gilbert just say something right then?

"What?" Matthew asked, attention snapping back into focus.

Gilbert gave him a weird look, but brushed it off anyway. "We were thinking about going for a walk."

He blinked, not expecting that. They had never expressed a real want of going outside, though they had been out on the porch a few times. But this was a first. "A walk?"

"Just down the driveway," Gilbert said. "Or around the perimeter of the house or something. Just a walk. Stretching our legs and stuff. Do you want to come with us?"

Matthew didn't hesitate to take him up on his offer. A walk would clear his head and make him feel better. Hopefully.

* * *

For some reason, the area surrounding his own was browner than he remembered. He had vivid memories of grass and bushes, but as he looked around, it was all dirt. And a tree. Two trees, to be exact, off to the right. The trees that lined the driveway didn't count - they had no leaves even though it wasn't winter.

He should have hired a gardener or something because this was dreadful. He hadn't realized he killed everything in a matter of months. Disappointed but not surprised; after all, while he had memories of green things, he didn't have memories of watering the green things.

Looking at the dirt, Matthew felt the opposite of better.

To make it worse, he made it his mission to keep pace with the dolls, but their tiny legs were, well, _tiny_ so it was really a walk for them and a step every minute or so for him.

"You should walk ahead," Elizabeta suggested. "We're slowing you down."

"It's okay," Matthew replied, observing a rather large rock some feet away. It was gray and lumpy. He'd never seen it before though it had presumably been here the entire time. What a nice break from the brown. "I like your company."

"Well," Gilbert said, "I'm tired. So you can pick me up and walk as fast as you want. I'll keep you company." Matthew cast his gaze down to Gilbert who was looking up at him, arms crossed, and not looking like he was tired at all. "I'm a prince," he said when Matthew didn't accept immediately, "I shouldn't have to walk." As if that was a real reason. But Matthew shrugged and picked Gilbert up and placed him on his shoulder.

"Meet you at home," Elizabeta called after them.

They were quiet for a while, Matthew walking in silence, Gilbert sitting and holding on Matthew's hair a little too tightly, but not enough to really be bothered by it. And then Gilbert started humming nonsense tunes.

Matthew smiled a little. "Did you need something," he asked.

"No," Gilbert denied quickly, clearly needing something. "Nothing much." Matthew snorted but waited patiently for Gilbert to describe what 'nothing much' was. There was only the sound of shoes brushing through dirt for a while before Gilbert started humming again.

Matthew rolled his eyes. Figures he'd have to due more prompting instead of just _being told_ like a normal person. "What?" He angled his ear closer to Gilberts head.

"Hmm…" And then he could feel Gilbert's right up against his ear. " _Hmmm…!_ " Matthew jerked his head away and Gilbert almost fell from where he was. "Hey!" he cried.

"Don't yell in my ear."

"I was _humming_."

"Don't _hum_ in my _ear_ if you're going to be _loud_ about it."

"Hmph."

He was pouting. Matthew could tell without looking. There was a sharp tug on his hair, but instead of flicking Gilbert off his shoulder like a bothersome bug, he chose to ignore it and move on with his life. It wouldn't be worth it in the end.

Their circular path was coming to an end. The house was within his sights once more. Matthew almost wished he had a longer path to walk because his head still wasn't as clear as he wanted it to be, but it was getting there.

"Hey, Matthew," Gilbert said when they were a few feet away from the porch. "Do you love me?"

Matthew stumbled and stopped. "What?" He craned his neck to look at Gilbert who wasn't looking at him. "Do I what?"

"Love me," Gilbert mumbled into his lap. He fiddled with his fingers, the hand that was holding onto his hair, lowering itself to clasp itself around the other one. "I was thinking about it. If I need a kiss of love to break the curse, then I first need someone to love me. And I know my friends and my brother love me, and I already went around giving them kisses which they _did not_ appreciate which is stupid because my kisses are awesome, but… but obviously I'm still like this."

Matthew sighed and continued on his way back into his home. "Gilbert," he said, "I could have told you kissing your family wouldn't have worked." Before any more indignant sounds could come out of Gilbert, Matthew continued. "It's because they're cursed, too." He pushed through door and didn't bother shutting it behind him. "You can't break their curse, they can't break yours. Simple."

"Yeah, well…." Gilbert floundered for a second. "Now I feel like an idiot. That's unawesome."

"It's your own fault," Matthew said, trying hard not to laugh. He reached up and pulled Gilbert for him his shoulder. "But," he said, staring at the porcelain face before him. "You tried."

Gilbert shrugged. He looked unhappy, the corners of his mouth tugged down in a frown. "It didn't do much."

"No," Matthew agreed. "But you tried." He smiled at him and Gilbert did his best to return it, but it fell short. So Matthew made a decision. "I'll try, too." He sat on the couch, keeping Gilbert in his hand. "I guess I love you," he admitted. "You and your family. I want the best for you guys." Before Gilbert could say anything, Matthew place a little kiss on the top of his head and finally set him down on the couch. He averted his eyes, feeling a little awkward. After all, he didn't exactly feel confident that a stupid kiss was really the answer to the curse. Especially a kiss as weak as that one.

"Does that count," Gilbert asked, looking straight ahead out the window. "Guessing that you love me?"

Matthew looked down at his lap. "Do _you_ love _me_?"

Gilbert took a breath and then choked on it. "I," he said. And then took a new breath. "I-I guess."

If they both just _guessed_ , then maybe it had to count for something. Matthew chuckled, feeling ridiculous. His life had felt ridiculous from the moment he went up into the attic the first time, so maybe ridiculous was the new normal. He turned his head to look up into Gilbert's reddish-brown eyes and found them twinkling with mirth. "You know," Matthew said. "The whole reason people try new things is because they guess the outcome will be positive."

"It can be negative if you guess wrong," Gilbert pointed it out, his smile shifting into a smirk.

Matthew crossed his arms in fake-irritation. "Do you want this to be a negative?"

"It isn't." His response came quick, impossibly quick. Like the alternative had barely even crossed his mind. His face drew closer to Matthew's, smirk trying but failing to remain, instead returning to a broad smile. Matthew's thoughts ceased to exist as a dawning realization emerged from the depths of his slow observational skills, his lips parting in surprise. "Haven't you noticed?" He could feel Gilbert's breath on him, could feel his warmth as it got closer. That broad smile was getting closer to him and Matthew found it hard to breathe.

"I'm human again."


	15. Fire Can't Exist in Space

While it was true Elizabeta, Ludwig, Roderich, Francis, and Antonio were envious of Gilbert for being a human again, they couldn't really stay like that for long. After all, now that Gilbert's head was physically bigger, they found that it had more space for memories. It wasn't something they had noticed right away, but before long, Gilbert could recall things he thought he had long since forgotten. Being a doll had really been holding him back.

For example, he had finally remembered the name of the witch who had cursed them. "It was Agatha Kirkland," he said confidently, proudly, like every problem they had had just been solved.

"I don't remember an Agatha," Ludwig said. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Gilbert declared before he stuck his tongue out at his little brother.

But it was as if he wasn't heard because his declaration went unnoticed and ignored. Francis suggested the name Astrid. Roderich suggested Allison. Elizabeta suggested Amber. Ludwig said it might be Amelia, but that still didn't feel right, no matter how much Gilbert said he was right in saying Agatha. Until finally, Antonio recommended the name Alice.

It was like a switch had been flicked, a clog in the machine finally turning smoothly, like the last card in a house of cards had been added, like the last puzzle piece being put into place.

"That's what I meant to say," Gilbert said as if he hadn't repeated 'Agatha' twenty times in the past few minutes. "Her name was Alice. See? I'm awesome. I remembered her name."

When they told Matthew later, after he had come home from work, they gave Antonio all the credit while Gilbert denied it all.

* * *

It should be said that there was something Matthew hadn't really noticed when Gilbert was a doll. There were a lot of things, actually, but this was the biggest thin- _no_ , not _thing_ because now that Gilbert could actually get out of his clothes and put on Matthew's borrowed clothes, he had a habit of not keeping them on, so Matthew isn't going to use the word _thing_ in regards to _biggest_ and now he's getting off on a tangent because the thing Matthew hadn't noticed when Gilbert was a doll was just how damn _attractive_ he was.

Not that he would ever admit that out loud because it's really embarrassing, _especially_ when he's already told him he loved him - as just a guess, but that's still a confession, and now Matthew's head is scrambled. It's been scrambled since he met Victoria Kirkland, but now it's really all over the place because it's becoming increasingly hard to concentrate on the work he brings home when Gilbert slings his arm around his shoulders and breathes down his neck and reads the assignments along with Matthew, the assignments which Matthew can't concentrate on anymore because he's suddenly breathless and Gilbert's lips are really close to his neck and if he turns his head, then those lips will be really close to Matthew's lips and Matthew already know what those lips feel like against his and.

Shorter sentences. He needed to figure out a way to start thinking in shorter sentences again.

Honestly, it felt like a blessing when Alfred called.

* * *

It had somehow happened like this. When Alfred had called to tell Matthew that he was finally ready to give him a tour of the observatory, just the two of them, Antonio suggested Gilbert should go with him. Why? So Gilbert could report back to them what the future, outside world was life. It almost made it seem like Matthew hadn't been talking to them about it for the past few months, answering all of their questions and sharing his life experiences. Not much had really changed in the century, to be honest, except for the rise of technology. Which, okay to be fair was pretty important, but he had caught Francis watching porn on his laptop once, so Matthew would say by this point in time they were pretty well educated.

In any case, Matthew was now trying to figure out a way to tell Alfred about the curse's progress, as he had been dreading, because one, guessing about love was pretty lame, and two, Alferd would never let him live it down, and three, because the tour was going to go to waste because Gilbert would be next to him and distracting him the entire time.

He could do this. Totally.

Alfred greeted them just outside the door, though he didn't really acknowledge Gilbert's presence at all. "Yo, Matt," he said, his ever present grin shining brilliantly. "You ready to have fun on this most awesome tour today?" Matthew only had a moment to nod before Alfred latched onto his arm and dragged him inside the building. He could see Gilbert out of the corner of his eye follow them in, seemingly unhappy about being ignored.

They were heading into the first real exhibit of the observatory when Alfred's loud chatter dropped to just a little above a whisper. And for Alfred, that was around the decibel people usually used when conversing."Um. Matt?" he said, pulling him closer to talk more directly into his ear. "Don't look now, but some weirdo is following us."

"What the fuck do you mean some _weirdo_?" Gilbert yanked Alfred away to glare at him, putting himself in between the cousin and crossing his arms across his chest. "Don't you recognize me?"

Alfred starred in befuddlement for a long second before his eyes grew wide behind his wire frames and he yelped and jumped about a foot away. "Holy shit! It grew!" Matthew tried not to facepalm.

Gilbert gave him an unimpressed look. "My curse was broken, you moron."

" _Oh_. How?"

A smirk grew on Gilbert's face and he prepared to answer.

With more than a little desperation, Matthew called out, "Magic!" and effectively cut off Gilbert's explanation - the true explanation that Matthew didn't want to share because admitting to Alfred the real explanation wasn't something he really wanted to do here in public.

"No shit," Alfred deadpanned, looking at Matthew like he was stupid. As if Alfred knew about magic as much as Matthew did. But he shook his head and faced forward with renewed enthusiasm. "Whatever. We're not here for magic today. We're here for - drumroll please - _science_!"

Alfred could talk a lot. This was a known fact. Even so, one might think he would have to stop for a breath every once and while, but those onces and a whiles were far and few between, so it basically kept Matthew and Gilbert from asking questions or having opinions at all. Which was fine and dandy, but Alfred also had a problem going off on a tangent and circling back around in such a way that Matthew had a hard time understanding what was actually a part of the tour and what was extra commentary and trivia that may or may not have had relevance.

Alfred was hyperfocused on what he was doing, speaking about Minerva Curie's earliest tests with rockets, about Harold Gavin's experiments with some pretty toxic chemicals, about the solar system and all of the ancient scientists that had made contributions that paved the way for future generations to understand it, and about everything else that, ultimately, flew above Matthew's head because science wasn't something he really understood. But Alfred was passionate about it and had little attention for anything else.

That was how he bumped into someone. He walked right into another person and almost sent them sprawling to the ground because he had little attention for anything other than explaining everything there ever was to explain about the observatory. Gilbert cackled with abandon.

Alfred immediately stopped and helped steady them. "Whoops; sorry about th- oh, you're back."

It occured to Matthew that he had yet to tell Alfred about Arthur Kirkland's alternative, feminine name, and in this moment, he was grateful he hadn't. He wasn't sure Alfred could have kept a straight face if he had.

As it was, Arthur Kirkland was standing affronted, scowling at Alfred for a full minute before regaining his bearings and yanking his arm away from his hand. "Why is it you keep appearing before me?" He crossed his arms over his chest to appear intimidating, but those eyebrows ruined the effect.

Alfred shrugged. "You want a pick-up line or an insult?" If Matthew thought he felt horrified on the inside, Arthur Kirkland was alarmingly horrified on the outside.

He sputtered, face going slack and turning red. "I will - In all my life, I've nev- You insufferable-!" He huffed out a gust of hot hair, hands clenched at his side, shaking with energy. He was looking everywhere but Alfred, while Alfred stared at him blankly with just the ever tiniest hint of amusement. And somehow, in that moment, Arthur Kirkland's green eyes landed on Matthew. He did a double take, glancing back and forth between the cousins. He looked at him like he had grown a second head. "M-Matthew?"

Matthew cleared his throat and waved awkwardly before realizing waving was making it _more_ awkward and quickly jerked his arm back down to his side in a clunky move. "Hi, Mr. Kirkland." He tried to smile politely, but he was pretty sure it ended up more as an uncomfortable grimace.

Arthur Kirkland blinked at him, nonplussed. "What brings you here?"

He glanced at Alfred. "My cousin is giving me a tour."

Arthur Kirkland glanced between them again. "You're related to this prick?"

Alfred made a noise of protest, but before he could really defend himself, or have Matthew defend him, Gilbert decided to involve himself in the conversation.

"Like you're related to model citizens." He looked at Arthur Kirkland like he was dirt underneath his shoes. Matthew's stomach felt sick again as the words reminded him of what Arthur Kirkland's grandmother and mother had done with the dolls.

In any case, whether it be from sheer ignorance or cruel acceptance, Arthur Kirkland looked scandalized. "And just who do you think you are?" he demanded, scowl etching itself further into his face.

At the same time Matthew started to say, "Oh, don't mind him, he's just a friend," Gilbert decided to say, "I'm his boyfriend."

And just like that, Matthew's breath caught and he could feel any and all possible resurrections to this conversation break and crumble like sand between his fingers.

Arthur Kirkland appraised him like Matthew had drenched himself in mud and was asking to be let into a newly cleaned room. "I didn't know you kept yourself with such unpleasant company, Matthew. Good-bye."

As Matthew watched the retreating form of Arthur Kirkland, he couldn't help but feel something heavy settle in his stomach. He voiced two tiny words to his companions, both of whom did not seem to care about his career one bit. "I'm fired."


	16. Arthur Kirkland Can Bite You in the Ass

When they came home after eating dinner with Alfred, Matthew's day had thoroughly been ruined. All he wanted to do was go up to his room and sleep. Looking around, the dolls were nowhere to be seen. They were probably in their room; it's not like he had a TV for them to entertain themselves with.

"You know," Gilbert said as they walked through the door, "you told me that guy was a douche, but he really is isn't he?"

Matthew frowned and sent a sharp glare in Gilbert's direction. "He's still my boss," he snapped.

"Right." Gilbert hissed and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Sorry." He looked apologetic, sincerely apologetic, and guilty, and like he kind of maybe regretted it, but Gilbert was too arrogant to truly regret his actions.

He stared at Gilbert, keeping his cool and maintaining a poker face. For as much as he had been having a hard time thinking these past couple of days, his head was perfectly clear in this moment. He couldn't tell if it was because his mind was just plain tired of thinking or there just wasn't anything really to think about. But there was one thing that hadn't really seemed to leave him alone.

He sighed and stepped closer. "Gilbert? Why did you kiss me?"

His eyes widened. "I… got caught up in the moment," he said. They held their gazes until Gilbert swallowed and looked away. "And besides. I wanted a _real_ kiss of true love."

"Ah." What had he been expecting? "All right then. Good night."

He was about halfway up the stairs when Gilbert called out to him. He was now over by the couch which had become his bed for the past few nights for lack of anything better. The other dolls were still a little jealous of him but liked to make fun of him because a prince sleeping on a couch isn't very prince like at all.

He was looking at Matthew like he didn't know how he would react. Licking his lips, he continued. "You said people try things because they take a guess that the outcome will be good. I took a guess that kissing you would have a good outcome."

Matthew's face burned hot and he could feel butterflies take off in his stomach. He didn't know what to say, or what to do, but he just felt jittery and breathless so he squeaked out a, "Good night," and turned to continue on his way.

"Night," Gilbert called softly after him.

He spared him one last glance before going upstairs.

* * *

It wasn't awkward. No way. There was no way it was awkward. There was just… something. Not a bad something, no of course not, they could get through this. Not that there was something to get through, no, of course not, but nothing was awkward.

They were sitting at the kitchen table, both of them eating breakfast because now that Gilbert was human again, he had to eat real food again in appropriate proportions lest he turn into a ghost. It was a lot of pancakes, to be honest, and sausages. Neither of them were really putting in an effort to start a conversation, only making small talk, and every once and a while Matthew would take a brief look up from his plate to Gilbert's face and he'd caught Gilbert doing the same a few times.

Because, honestly, what was this? In Matthew's experience, whenever two people kissed, there were feelings involved. And sure, there were feelings here, but _what type_? Matthew couldn't even get a real grasp on his own feelings, nonetheless try to figure out Gilbert's! And communicating… well, until Matthew felt certain about whatever was happening in his brain, he wasn't going to say anything for fear of making things even more awkward or worse.

This entire thing was ridiculous. It's not like he has a crush on Gilbert. Not when Gilbert had been the size of a ruler just a few days ago. Which, okay, that doesn't _really_ mean much, and why were these feeling surfacing now that Gilbert was his size? A normal human? …. Okay, that's makes sense to, but it just felt _awkward_.

Fine. There. He admitted it. This was awkward.

"So" Gilbert said loudly, shaking Matthew from his inner thoughts. He set his fork down and cleared his throat before looking straight at Matthew and continuing. "I realized something yesterday. When we ran into that Kirkland." He paused and seemed to backtrack. "Well, it wasn't so much as realizing as it was remembering. And it wasn't like immediately either, so, uh. What I'm trying to say is that I… remember the rest of the curse." Matthew sat up in surprise and could have leapt for joy if not for the fact that Gilbert looked like he was wincing. He smiled at Matthew shakily, like he didn't want to say whatever he had left to say. But he said it anyway. "And you might hate this but, uh, somehow, really unawesomely, we need that guy."

Matthew's uplifted spirits started dying. "Need? What do you mean we need him?" This couldn't be good.

Gilbert cleared his throat and looked away. "We need his permission."

"Okay. You've lost me. Run me by the rest of the curse?"

Gilbert nodded and thought about where to begin. He shuffled his chair closer when he had decided and started talking. "The first part is basically turning us into dolls, right? The second part is about the kiss and how my friends have it worse." He waited for Matthew to nod before moving on. "The last part… well, the Kirkland family doesn't really have men, y'know? Especially a hundred years ago, there were none. None married into the family, and none were born in. So, I guess so Alice could ensure we'd stay cursed, she made it so the curse can't break unless there is a male Kirkland born into the family that could give us his consent to have… something… torn…? I don't know. That last part is iffy. But we need him."

That sounded crazy and ridiculous, quite like everything else, and Matthew kind of wanted to bang his head against the table. He wasn't sure if he wanted to actually know the actual lines of the curse, because maybe then it wouldn't sound crazy. He didn't know what was scarier, knowing it's not crazy and just assuming it is. But that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things; there were bigger problems, particularly stemming from this craziness, a problem he couldn't really comprehend because the probability of it being solved was very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very slim.

"Arthur Kirkland," Matthew said slowly, lowly, in an apathetic voice that was all too disconnected from reality. He could feel himself disassociating. "My boss. Who didn't look too happy the last time we saw him."

"Yeah."

"Okay." Matthew took in a deep breath to steady his frazzled nerves. "How could this go wrong?"

And with that, he stood up and cleared his dishes. He had to go to work. Where his boss would be. There was no reason for this to go wrong _at all_.

(Matthew made a note to himself to figure out a spell to make sarcasm tangible. He figured it would be a fun thing to play with.)

* * *

When he entered Arthur Kirkland's office, there was a tense and heavy feeling hanging around the air. It did not bode well.

He took a deep breath and said, "Good morning, Mr. Kirkland." Arthur Kirkland did not react. It was a long and unnerving silence before he set down his pen from grading papers and looked up at him. His eyes were sharp and piercing, conveying a thinly veiled disdain for the sight before him. Matthew tried not fidget. "Is… there a problem?"

"Yes." The answer was curt and cut through the tension like a guillotine might cut through someone's neck. Matthew gulped and hoped it wasn't audible as his body grew rigid. Arthur Kirkland stood up and, although he was ever so slightly shorter than him, looked as imposing as a prison. His usually present scowl was twisted into a face of solemn anger. "Explain to me," he continued, his voice steady and brusque, "for all that is good and holy, what explanation do you have as to why you paid my grandmother a visit?"


	17. Fire Not In Space is Thetical

**A/N: We're nearing the end of the week and I still have about a chapter and a half to write. Wish me luck and have a wonderful day! ^^**

There was only one word going through Matthew's head at that moment.

 _Fuck_.

But he can't say 'fuck' to Arthur Kirkland, so his brain groped around his vanishing thoughts for something he could actually say and it landed on the truth.

"I wanted to ask her something." Oh God, the truth sounded pathetic. His brain was an idiot. Sure, it was true, but really, it was hardly sound reasoning. Afterall, he could have asked Arthur Kirkland to do it, or never have done it at all. It was a stupid idea and it felt like it was even stupider idea now.

Arthur Kirkland scoffed and his face contorted into a sneer, his eyes burning themselves through Matthew's head. "You wanted to ask my Nanna something? Is that the best excuse you have?" Matthew tried not flinch as he raised his voice. He seemed to realize it himself as he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath and continued in his normal tone. "You must understand that what you have done is entirely unprofessional and is quite, in fact, invasive of my personal life. You had no right and your reasoning is flimsy at best."

"Yes, sir," Matthew replied immediately, nodding his head. His hands were clenched at his side to keep himself from falling apart. He couldn't _believe_ he was in this situation. "I apologize."

"Ha! You have no excuse for doing something like this. What were you thinking?" Matthew flinched this time as Arthur Kirkland's voice grew louder in livid anger. There were a few moments of tense silence wherein Matthew stared steadily at the desk in front of him and Arthur Kirkland held his furious gaze. And then he calmly sat down, back straight like a gentleman, picked his pen back up, and started to read the student assignments again. "Get out," he said, voice like cold ice. There was magic behind it; Matthew could tell because it made him shiver unnaturally. "You're fired."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Matthew walked through the front door and announced, "We're fucked."

The activity in the living room halted as his housemates looked away from whatever they were doing. Gilbert and Elizabeta had a chessboard in front of them, Ludwig was standing atop an open book, Francis and Antonio had their swords crossed in what appeared to be a fencing match, and Roderich stopped in the middle of a musicless waltz. Matthew had never particularly wondered what the dolls got up to while he was at work, but the scene before him surmised that they did exactly what he thought they did.

Gilbert stood up from the game and came to greet him by the door. "Why are home so early?" he asked, looking over Matthew's despondent form.

Matthew, for his part, kept replaying his time in Arthur Kirkland's office over and over again in his head. The icy demand to leave still leaving a chill in his veins, the thought of not having to be told twice to get out still present in his being, and that unrepentant utterance of his worst nightmare screaming incessantly that it would be back to haunt him forever. And while this miserable memory flashed before his eyes for the upteenth time in the past half hour, he found some semblance of energy to put forth the most wretched truth.

"I got fired."

It was like the ice that Arthur Kirkland had imposed on his body descended upon the air. It was, to say the least, uncomfortable.

"Oh, shit," Gilbert muttered. "Sorry." He said it like it was his fault, as if he was remembering the interaction he had with Arthur Kirkland and taking that to be the reasoning behind this new development. It was kind of him to think that, but he had no reason to.

Matthew shook his head and lethargically made his way over to sit on the couch. "It was my fault," he said in a heavy sigh. "I went to see his grandma."

"What?"

He hadn't meant to say that. But now that it was out there, there was no avoiding it. He had been avoiding it for too long anyway. They deserved to know. So, in the best way he could and with a guilt-laden face, he forced the words out of him.

"She may or may not have known about you guys and had given you to her daughter as toys?"

That sounded like a question. Why did that sound like a question? Maybe because he wanted their forgiveness? Or like an excuse. Did it sound like an excuse? Why did it sound like a question? It's truth! Not a question.

His insides were eating themselves. He could feel it. It was, to say the least, uncomfortable.

The long and heavy silence was uncomfortable, too.

"That's messed up," Gilbert said after a few minutes had passed.

"Yeah," Matthew agreed. "So. We're fucked."

Gilbert clasped a hand on Matthew's shoulder and gave him a small smile. "We'll figure it out. I'm awesome for a reason. I don't give up that easily."

* * *

He called his mom. He needed advice and his mom seemed like the best bet. After he gave her the run down of a hypothetical situation, she quietly contemplated the options.

"So," she eventually said. "In a hypothetical situation, you visited your hypothetical boss's hypothetical grandmother to hypothetically ask her something and then you hypothetically got fired. What did you hypothetically ask her?"

Matthew tried not to wince. "Remember that hypothetical curse I asked you about?" Well, he couldn't actually remember if he had framed it as a hypothetical, but in any case, he was pretty sure his mother wasn't all to happy that the first call she had received in a while was full of hypothetically bad news.

"Your hypotheticals are sounding more like theticals, Matthew."

"Is thetical even a word?"

"It is now." He heard her sigh, something that was more than a little disappointed. She was always saddest when she was disappointed. "Matthew, I love you, but what were you hypothetically thinking?"

He sighed. He wasn't thinking, not really, because if he had been, he would have not done the things he had done. Well, okay, maybe he _had_ been thinking, but it had been Alfred's voice and Alfred wasn't the best of thinkers. And all of this is an excuse, and he's an adult, so he should know better, and be responsible for his own actions, and not blame it on imaginary voices in his head that sound a lot like his cousin because sane adults didn't do things like that. But he also needed to tell his mother something, except he didn't really have anything more to say.

"Do you have any advice," he asked because now all he wanted to do was hang up.

She hummed. She was still disappointed. He knew this but could not fix it. "Beg for forgiveness," she suggested.

"Right. I'll just… do that, I guess."

Like he had any other options.

The line was quiet. He didn't want to hang up on her, even if he wanted the call to end, because it really had been a while since he had talked to her, and he especially didn't want to end the call on a weird note. So, they found themselves in a lull.

Thankfully, his mother figured out something to say. "Is there anything to be hypothetically happy about right now?"

He smiled and nodded his head even if she couldn't see. "Half the curse was broken," he told her.

"Oh, yeah? How?"

"Kiss of love," he said without thinking.

And it didn't even register in his head what he said until her voice went suspiciously guileless. "Those are the best curses," she said; he could hear her smiling widely. He wondered if he should just laugh it off because curses weren't really things to be thought of as _best_. "Easy to fix when you get them, you know? Who was it who did the kissing?" She tacked that last question onto the end as if she were asking him to get milk, in such an innocuous way that he almost fell right into the trap.

"That's not important," he said and flinched when it came out a little too quickly, a little too loudly. She just hummed and he could feel his face heating up. "It's wasn't-" he started, but cut off abruptly because _what was he saying?_ But his mouth was moving a lot faster than his brain was. "I mean; not like a _real_ kiss, or anything, completely platon-" _-ic._ Until, that is, Gilbert actually _did_ give a 'real' kiss afterwards and now they were in this weird gray area and there was no way he was telling his mother this, so he finished, "completely commonplace." _What?_ "C-Completely pleasant - I mean, _plates_ ; no! Not plates!" He smooshed his palm against his face and fought the urge to groan.

"Platonic?" she supplied.

"Friendly," he said, feeling humiliated. He should have just said 'platonic.' But, no, that would have been too simple.

"How _friendly_?"

His face was on fire and his soul was ascending onto a higher plane. "Don't make this weird."

He could here her take in a calm breath, sounding a lot happier than her sighs earlier. "Last piece of advice before I hang up," she said, her voice light and airy. "If you want to, go for it. And don't think too hard about it." He made a sound of agreement because he really didn't want to respond; he was too embarrassed. So, she reaffirmed her love for him and said good-bye.

He didn't think he could ever live this down.

 _Plates_.


	18. The Five Step Plan of Awesomeness

**A/N: Hello for the second time today. :) I still have a chapter to write, but I'm hoping I can do it before I go to sleep tonight! But hey, guys, look at that; we're finally on the second to last chapter! Yay! If, for whatever reason, I _don't_ finish writing the last chapter tonight, I apologize, but have a good night. :)**

Alfred came by the next day with a comic book in his hand, happily telling Matthew he had finally bought him a housewarming gift. He also apologized for getting Matthew fired when he heard about it. Which, okay, it would have been really unprofessional of Arthur Kirkland to fire him over his familial relations and his not-boyfriend, firing him over going to see his grandmother was one thing - that was unprofessionalism on _Matthew's_ part - but, for some reason, he had a feeling that his familial relations and not-boyfriend were an actual reason as to why he got fired. And that's why Matthew accepts the apology and the make-up hug and moves on with his life.

Moving on with his life includes giving Alfred the run-down on the rest of the curse and the big problem that occured upon being fired. Being on Arthur Kirkland's bad side was less than ideal and they didn't have a plan to make it better other than beg for forgiveness. There was no telling if that would work, so they needed a Plan B.

Except Alfred insisted he had a Plan A that was fool-proof.

Matthew wasn't reassured. In fact, he could only see disaster coming to strike. It wasn't that he didn't have any faith in Alfred, but he feared that he would only aggravate the situation and make it worse. But he was also already at rock bottom, and there was only one way to go from there, so maybe he would put some faith into Alfred because, while begging for forgiveness wasn't the worst option, Matthew was curious as to what other options there were.

"First step," Alfred announced to the living room in which he, Matthew, Gilbert, and the dolls congregated. "We're gonna load you guys into your dollhouse. Gilbert excluded."

Yeah. This was going to be interesting. Matthew brought the dollhouse out from the dolls' room and set it on the coffee table; they made their way inside.

"Second step," Alfred continued, shutting the dollhouse and effectively trapping them inside which caused indignant shouting. Then, he picked up the dollhouse and started moving out the door. Matthew and Gilbert had no choice but to follow him. "Get into Matthew's car because mine is basically out of gas."

Once they were all buckled in, Gilbert in the back with the dollhouse and Matthew riding shotgun in his own car, Alfred turned on the ignition and started driving.

"Third step," Alfred said as he gained speed. "Go to Arthur Kirkland's house."

And just like that, Matthew's heart stopped beating as he ascended from his corporeal form into the fourth dimension to watch his life flash before his eyes before crashing back down like a plane might when it's engine explodes - painfully, dramatically, violently, and with a lot of carnage and debris to piece back together into one big accident.

When Matthew finally recovered from his momentary shock, his hands shot out to grab stupidly at the steering wheel. "Whoa!" he shouted, trying to turn the car off the side of the road in an attempt to slow down and get a grasp on the situation. "Hold on, Alfred. That's crazy! We can't do that!"

"Why not?" Alfred pushed Matthew back in his seat easily, eyes never leaving the road before him. As much as Alfred was negligent in other parts of his life, driving was never one of them.

Matthew sputtered. "First, we don't even know where he _lives_ and-"

"I do. I saw him get into this truly horrendous car at the observatory and it took me like two whole days to figure out where I'd seen it before. I pass by his house every morning." He said this like it was a completely normal thing to know where random people lived based on car models. It was like saying he knew where Matthew lived because his car, as if Matthew's car is the only reason he knows that Matthew's house is Matthew's house. But Matthew knew for a fact that many people owned the same exact car he did. Which was why Alfred sounded completely idiotic.

"You can't know that that's the same car! That's a horrible basis of knowing where he lives!"

"It has a stupid bumper sticker. I totally know it's the same car."

He could hear Gilbert snickering in the backseat. And as much as Matthew loved the sound of Gilbert's laugh, now was really not the time.

"I-I-In any case, classes are in session. He's at work."

This actually made Alfred pause, like the thought hadn't even occurred to him. "Oh. Right. Okay, we'll go to his office instead." He abruptly made a U-turn.

Matthew grappled for the handle above the window. "Wha- Alfred! Stop!" He went ignored as Alfred swerved in and out of daytime traffic. "This is a stupid idea," he said, nearing his wits end.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "You don't even know the fourth step. It could be 'beg for forgiveness' for all you know." He glanced at Matthew out of the corner of his eyes when they paused at a stop sign. "And even if that _was_ the next step - which it _isn't_ \- in order to beg for forgiveness, Matt, you need to actually go see him, y'know? You can't very well tell him you're sorry from your room."

Matthew's mouth soured. Alfred had a point. He almost wanted to curse Alfred out for having a valid point, but his cousin was being helpful and caring. So he kept quiet for the rest of the ride out of respect. He also held onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, the fourth step would really _be_ "beg for forgiveness" and not anything stupid or humiliating.

Avalon University had never looked like a death sentence before, but today it was shining with the intent to kill. Or maybe Matthew was being dramatic as they piled out of the car and went into the building. Annoyingly enough, he had to lead the way to their destination because he was the only one who knew which way to go. He made sure that they got there slowly and along the route with the most detours.

"Step four," Alfred said when they were standing in front of Arthur Kirkland's office door, dollhouse resting comfortably in Gilbert's arms. "Try not to get kicked out." And with that, he swung the door open.

This can't end well.

Alfred all but dragged Matthew into the office, Gilbert trailing afterwards, shifting the dollhouse to properly close the door.

Arthur Kirkland's office remained the same as always - cluttered, magically imbued, and in a controlled chaos that Matthew could never replicate. Arthur Kirkland himself appeared to have not moved from the position Matthew had left him in, hunched over at his desk, pen in hand, grading assignments. He barely spared them a glance, but his eyes caught when he did, his gaze tightening into a glower.

He reclined in his chair, setting both hands flat on the desk, and generally made himself look bigger. "What are you doing here?" His voice was steady and unfriendly, making sure that they clearly knew they were unwelcome. Matthew wanted to bolt, but he had to at least beg for forgiveness. Though, with the others by his side, he didn't know if begging would do much.

"Step five," Alfred declared after Arthur Kirkland's cold inquiry, picking a stack of paper up off the desk and moving it aside before taking the dollhouse from Gilbert's arms and placing it on the table. He was unaffected by the tense atmosphere. "Explain the situation - or beg for forgiveness; it's up to you, Matt."

After being handed the baton, Matthew wanted to throw up. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do. While on one hand, begging for forgiveness would be a pretty easy way out, on the other hand, explaining the situation might actually be better for them as a whole. But he didn't have long to continue his internal debate; after all everybody was watching him to see what he would do. And so his mind searched for the right words to say, whether they be for forgiveness or for explanation. When he finally did find the words to say sorry, his mouth had other ideas.

"I went to ask her about the dolls," he blurted out and almost instantly regretted it. Arthur Kirkland looked dumbstruck before coloring an angry red. But before he could start a new rant, Matthew stepped forward and unclasped the dollhouse walls and opened them. The five dolls were standing on various floors in the house, not moving as if they weren't sure they could. "These dolls."

This was a bad apology. It started out horribly and he figured it would end the same way. But he had to persevere; his friends' lives depended on it.

"They're magical, you see," he explained awkwardly. He gestured for them to move around in demonstration. They didn't move. Maybe he was going crazy. "Well, uh, not _magical_ really, but-"

"We're cursed," Elizabeta spoke up, getting a clue, and moved out of the dollhouse to stand on Arthur Kirkland's desk.

Arthur Kirkland was a professional, a trained teacher of the magical arts, studier of (nearly) all magical subjects and was well aware of the different ways curses worked, how they affected lives, and the gazillion possibilities of what those curses entailed. Even so, he shot out of his chair with a short, shocked shout.

What had once been an expression of anger and malcontent, melted into surprise and incredulity. His body was tense for a completely different reason now, and Matthew finally felt that he might be able to sigh in relief.

Arthur glanced between the now moving dolls, up to Matthew, back to the dolls, up to Alfred, then Matthew, back down to the dolls, and up again. "What in the world," he breathed, "does this have to do with me and my grandmother?"

"I found them in the attic," Matthew started slowly as to not startle Arthur even more, "and-"

"And you have to break the curse," Gilbert finished. Arthur Kirkland's gaze moved from the dollhouse to Gilbert's. Questions were all over his face, and Gilbert was quick to answer them even though they went unspoken. "For long the Kirkland family thrived / But of male heirs it has been deprived / If a boy may there be born / With his consent shall it be torn." Arthur blinked, flummoxed, as if he was unsure of what was being said. " _You_ have to break the curse, or else my friends are going stay like that forever and that's not awesome."

It felt like an hour later by the time Matthew and Gilbert filled Arthur in on the entire story, with added points from the dolls and wayward comments made by Alfred. For as stuffy as Arthur Kirkland had been, with his magical elitism and general uncare of anyone who didn't exhibit some type of control over magic, he had some semblance of compassion for these dolls who had been cursed by his great-grandmother.

"If I give my consent," he said after a long while, after he had heard the story and understood it, "what is it that will be torn?"

"Don't you mean 'when?"' Gilbert growled. Arthur frowned and looked at him curiously. "You said 'if.'"

"Yes, _when_ I give my consent," he amended. "Now answer my question." Nobody did. Minutes passed. It wasn't for lack of trying, but Matthew was stumped. And Alfred was off in la-la land from the looks of it. Arthur rolled his eyes and heaved a frustrated sigh. "'Torn' is a peculiar word. Curses break, not tear. So, what is it-"

Alfred gave a triumphant yell which made Matthew practically jump out of his skin. "I know what it is," he said proudly, wide grin eating up his face. "So give your consent, Artie, and we'll do the thing!"

"My name is Arthur, not 'Artie,' you nitwit. What's being torn?"

"Give your consent and I'll tell you."

While Matthew had faith in his cousin, his mind was still drawing a blank. Which was never a great thing when Alfred seemingly arrived at conclusions first. Still, there wasn't much he could do when his boss and cousin were having a stare-off.

Until, finally, Arthur Kirkland raised one of his ginormous eyebrows as a challenge. "Fine," he said and turned to briefly look down at the dolls. "I give you my consent to break your curse." And then his green eyes returned to Alfred.

"It's the hanky," Alfred told him.

"Pardon?"

Alfred looked smug. "Even Grandpa Franklin didn't care so much about his handkerchiefs."

It was Ludwig who pulled the handkerchief - the one that had been used as a tablecloth in the dollhouse, the one that was mysteriously immune to any harm that might have befallen it - off the table; he and Roderich held it taut and Antonio and Francis levelled their swords at it. Matthew sent a silent prayer up to any gods watching, hoping that this would work - otherwise, Alfred was an idiot and they were all out of ideas.

The two gave a war cry before charging full speed at the handkerchief. They went right through it; their swords cut through it like it was a bubble, the surface splitting apart like it didn't want to be together anymore.

And only moments after that, Alfred, Matthew, Gilbert, and Arthur were scrambling away from the desk as five doll bodies began expanding into regular human sized ones.

The dollhouse was crushed beneath their weight.


	19. All the Things to Miss and Love

**A/N: It's finally finished after a year! Yay! :D :D :D I cannot thank you all enough for your support and love. Thank you so much for sticking with me. I sincerely hope you liked this fic, or at least parts of it. Personally, there are things I liked and things I could have done better, and there are probably continuity errors somewhere, but hey - I wrote it and it's out there now. :) I had fun writing week-to-week, but it's not something I'm really planning on doing again. I just like it better when I get everything written out before hand. Anywho, I won't keep you here any longer. Have a most miraculous day! :)**

It had been a week. Matthew had been counting the days. With each passing day, his fondness for the dolls had grown; now, in their human boies, the range of emotion and actions they could do had increased tenfold, as well as their memory. Their personalities fleshed out and they were so radiantly happy that the entire week had been spent in celebration.

All good things had to come to an end though.

Curses were such tricky things that could last lifetimes. Governments all over the world had protocols for misplaced, newly-released from their curses people - whether they were misplaced in distance, time, or both. For the dolls, it was both. As such, they had to return to Prussia.

It was going to be a sensational story, Matthew knew, when it was to be released to the press after their return to their home country. The public loved a good curse story, especially ones that involved royalty and long passages of time. He could name a few movies off the top of his head that were based on such stories. Even still, he couldn't help but feel it was not as glam and melodramatic as some news outlets might make it to be.

One thing he knew for sure though, every time he'd see a news story about them, he would miss them all dearly.

Ludwig, for as big a doll as he was, was even bigger in real size. His buff muscles looked like he could snap Matthew in two, but his stony demeanor was no longer enhanced by a porcelain face though his appearance was every bit as well kept as a doll might be. His hair still remained perfectly slicked back and his clothes always looked impeccable. He had a work out routine that Matthew couldn't help but be in awe of - throughout the entire week, he trained everyday just to maintain his muscles. He told Matthew that he had really missed exercising like that, because as a doll, his stamina and energy had been reduced into such a small amount that it felt like he barely got anything done before he sat back down. His voice was also a lot deeper than it had been. Matthew would miss Ludwig and his big muscles and his stony but soft attitude.

Antonio he would miss because of his eternal happiness. He had happiness to spare now that he was back to normal, and his energy was boundless. He'd been eating ten tomatoes everyday because he could and chattering nonstop to anyone who listen to him, regardless of where he was. He barely touched his sword for the entire week, rather, he went around cooking everyone large meals with the help of Francis, and taking long naps. His wild curls would always be matted when he woke up, but they went right back to being bouncy in no time. Before the week was over, he started a vegetable garden in Matthew's back yard with explicit instructions on how to take care of it. Matthew would miss Antonio and his love of food and his positive attitude.

Francis was much more handsy-feely now. Now that he was Matthew's size, he extended his hands-on policy with the dolls to include him as well and that meant a lot of hugs, kisses, cuddles, hand holding, and hair pats than Matthew had ever received in his life from anyone else. He seemed to thrive off of keeping his long locks looking perfect, and his face still looked like it was made of porcelain, but only because he knew all about skincare. Matthew even let him style his hair a few times. Francis also liked to give advice on a lot of things, mostly about love, which was something he had missed when his brain was the size of a peanut. He would also wax poetic about the simplest of beauties and never failed to have a compliment for anyone. Matthew would miss Francis and his pretty words and loving attitude.

Elizabeta looked all the more beautiful and strong now that she was her right size. She commanded attention whenever she walked into a room, her very presence a thing to be noticed at all times. She was kind and caring when respected, but a force to be reckoned with when she had a frying pan in her hand. Her days were spent reconnecting with new people, making new friends, and reenergizing herself from the sausage party she had to live with for the past century, unconscious or not. She helped Matthew clean up around the house and helped him decorate his home to feel more homely. She gave him tips about confidence and earning respect and how not to make a fool of himself. Matthew would miss Elizabeta and her poise and her motherly attitude.

Roderich could finally play the piano again. He could play the dollhouse piano just fine, sure, but that was nothing compared playing a life-size grand piano with the grace of someone who _hadn't_ been frozen in a hundred years and theoretically should have been out of practice. Everything about Roderich screamed grace now, except for his thrift shop clothes. He refused to spend more than he needed to on things he described as useless and shared wisdom to Matthew about how to be thrifty. Matthew didn't take much of it to heart because he prefered having clothes that weren't threadbare, but he supposed Roderich valued saving up for a fine instrument rather than clothes. He was the one who changed most after returning to normal; no longer snooty and quiet, now open and proud. Matthew would miss Roderich and his music and his self-assured attitude.

Matthew would miss them all individually. He hated to play favorites, but he secretly (or not so secretly) would miss Gilbert the most.

Gilbert, though he had been human again longer than the rest of them, was still the one Matthew was surprised to see everyday, sitting upright, standing upright at just about Matthew's height. Gilbert, while undoubtedly still arrogant, never raised himself up at the expense of others. He went around and tried to partake in whatever activity his friends were doing, whether it be Ludwig's work outs, or Antonio's siestas, Francis's cuddle sessions, Elizabeta's decorating, or Roderich's playing. He made an effort to include himself and not make too much of a nuisance, though he loved doing that, too. Being a nuisance was Gilbert's own personal hobby and even though it should have been exasperating and obnoxious, Matthew thought it was cute. He had a crush on a prince who liked to make a nuisance of himself, a prince who had to return to his own country. Matthew would miss Gilbert simply because Gilbert was Gilbert.

The dolls had been having so much fun being human again, Matthew never quite found the time to talk to Gilbert about his feelings and the whatever-relationship they had.

Now, of course, it was a little late. They were standing on the train platform, in the train station, and waiting for the train that was to take the dolls - the _Prussians_ home because they were _not_ dolls anymore. Alfred had accompanied them, Arthur having said good-bye the previous night when Matthew held a going away party at his house for them. (While there were many good things about the dolls returning to their human forms, namely _returning to their human forms_ , Matthew considered getting his job back to be a pretty damn good thing.) He gave each of them their own personalized farewell, Alfred doing the same except much more dramatically and loudly.

He knew exactly what to say to each of them, until he got to Gilbert.

Gilbert was smiling at him, bittersweet and lonely in all the ways that Gilbert should never be. "I'll be back," he said. "You'll see this awesomeness again, Birdie."

"Yeah," he agreed, feeling a little hollow on the inside. He smiled back, a small thing that looked more sad than anything else. "Can't wait." They stared at each other, violet on rusty brown, sending messages back and forth, promises that they longed to make and keep. Matthew took a breath, feeling a little light headed. "Gilbert?" Staring into Gilbert's eyes, he couldn't remember if he was breathing or if his heartbeat had ever been regular. The weight of not being able to see him for weeks was heavy in his mind; he didn't want to let go, but he felt if he didn't have an anchor, he'd fly off the face of the planet. So, he stopped thinking so hard and went for it.

Gilbert's lips felt like they had last time. Soft, yet demanding, confident in a way that so _Gilbert_ that Matthew had to use all his willpower to not fall apart. Gilbert kissed him like he was going away for years rather than weeks, with a forcefulness that made Matthew's knees go weak. He wrapped his arms around Gilbert's neck to stay upright, feeling the hot path of Gilbert's arms as they circled his torso and brought them even closer.

"I'm going to miss you," Matthew whispered in the space between them when they finally broke apart.

Gilbert whined a little and kissed him again, short and sweet. "I don't want to go now," he said, whine evident in his voice as he pressed kisses all over Matthew's face.

Matthew tried not to laugh. "You have to."

"You're making it hard." A hard kiss was pressed into Matthew's mouth before Gilbert pulled back and held his gaze. There was a silence between them, comfortable and filled with longing and bittersweet sorrow. Gilbert's eyes twinkled with enchanting liveliness. "Do you love me?" he asked softly, almost like he already knew the answer.

They still really had a lot to talk about, but Matthew felt like it would be a little easier to do so now. It was hard not to think that when he was smiling so hard it was starting to hurt his cheeks.

"I'm getting there."


End file.
